Unfortunate
by Quistis Trepe1
Summary: A school camping trip goes horribly wrong when the Creeper makes an appearance.
1. Chapter 1: A is for Alpha

_A school camping trip goes horribly wrong when the Creeper makes an appearance. _

It was a warm, still day. The forest stood dark and quiet, resting on top of the steep hills of Mayflower Way, looking down on the surrounding countryside like a silent watchtower. No breeze soughed through the trees or cooled the earth, and the air was hot and dry. Inside the forest the atmosphere was much cooler and darker; an eerie silence persisted broken only by the occasional squawk of a bird, or of a forest animal rustling as it scampered across the leaf litter.

It was a foreboding atmosphere suited well to the foreboding forest, but believe it or not, this Forest, Mayflower Forest, was the destination of the small group of campers who were slowly but surely scaling Mayflower Hills. The silence and serenity of the countryside was shattered by this travelling group; occasional bouts of singing, raucous laughter, bellows and shouts, although there weren't many inhabitants of Mayflower Way that the group could really disturb. Or that's what they thought...

"Eww! I'm so sweaty, I hate sweating, I never usually sweat," Madison cried as another droplet of sweat rolled freely down her forehead into her eyes. She wiped her eye with a sweaty hand and then flicked the sweat off her hand in disgust.

"You do when I'm with you babe," Cole added in, and as usual, his comment was followed by a burst of boisterous laughter from the few other boys walking along beside him.

"Shut up Cole," Madison sighed wearily as if she was a mother who'd grown sick of her child misbehaviour, but as she sighed she had a mischievous grin on her face. Really she loved the attention she got off Cole.

Madison and Cole were members of the alpha group, the alpha males and alpha females; the popular kids; the 'bimbos and the jocks'. They were beautiful and athletic and oozed with charisma; some of them were clever but hid it well because it wasn't cool to be smart in their group. This group obviously took the lead on the trek, and currently were a few hundred yards ahead of the rest of the class. They scaled the lower parts of Mayflower Hills quite easily, but were starting to slow down as the hill got steeper. The day was scorching and no clouds blanketed the cerulean blue sky above.

"Can we stop for some water?" Keeley asked in her soft, creamy voice. Everyone else was desperate for a rest too, but they were all too proud to ask for a break, and were all so relieved when Keeley asked to stop.

The alphas walked on a few more steps and then settled on a neat arrangement of rocks on a grassy plateau. There was the noise of flasks and bottles popping open as thirsty hikers guzzled down icy water, and then there was a relaxing silence. The view from this picturesque plateau was beautiful; below the alpha group lay a rugged stretch of land, like a blanket of verdant grass stretched across a layer of rocky loam. The hill below them was gentler than the hill above them which seemed to almost tower over them. The group looked down at the rest of their class marching on slow, a good bit away from them.

"We'll still make it to the top first," Keeley said matter-of-factly, breaking the silence.

"Well duh," Cole snorted.

"We're nearly there anyway already," Brooke added in.

There were nine members of the alpha group; Madison, Keeley, Cole, Brooke, Blake, Xavier, Spencer, Taylor and Tristan. It could be said that Tristan was the alpha male, he was the leader of the group and everyone looked to him. He was an intelligent boy with swarthy good looks. Everyone always noticed his eyes; they were very light brown, like milky milky chocolate. But besides their brightness, they seemed so deep. It was difficult to have a conversation with him and not be completely hypnotised by his eyes. His girlfriend was Taylor.

"Aw honey, I'm so tired," Taylor purred as she stretched her neck and laid back across Tristan's lap, who was sitting on a flat rock. He diligently stroked her chestnut hair around her face. Taylor wasn't a very bright girl, but was madly in love with Tristan. She wasn't really popular but had a really big reputation because she was Tristan's girlfriend. Her haughty demeanour mixed with her complete disregard of anyone else who existed other than herself didn't really bode well for her when she was making friends, but she did look really hot. She had long chestnut hair, a tanned, athletic body with sumptuous, plump breasts and an ass as tight as a tambourine. She also had beautiful, pale, cherry lips that just begged to be kissed. They didn't need to do much begging, as a few seconds after Taylor threw herself into her lover's lap, she and Tristan were in a deep embrace.

"Come on! The others are starting to catch up," Blake exclaimed, shaking Tristan so that he was forced to end his tender kiss with Taylor. Blake was a very jittery person, and played for at least three sports teams. He was an outstanding sportsman, and excelled at basketball (probably due to his towering frame) but had little going for him academically; whether this was due to a lack of trying or plain stupidity was yet to be determined.

"Yeah, I'm starting to get bored," Brooke droned in her glacially-slow husky voice.

"Then let's go!" Yelled the ever-animated Cole, and the Alpha group quickly packed up their things and recommenced their trek.

"If the tent's a-rockin, don't come a-knockin," Blake whispered to Cole, nodding at Tristan and Taylor as they went. His comment was met with the usual snigger.

_Chapter 1 Fin_


	2. Chapter 2: In Sylvan Shadows

**CHAPTER2**

The central camp fire was blazing. Its long fiery tendrils licked the cold night air and it crackled and spat angrily, providing ample heat and light for the merry, although quite exhausted, bunch of school kids who encircled it. Usually the group would have broken up into its respective cliques by now; the alphas, the smart kids, the geeks, the people in the middle, the Chinese students and the Spanish group, but today everyone was too tired, and they all huddled near the fire, and chatted aimlessly. The trek up the hillside was very taxing, and then they had to hike through the untamed forest to find the camping spot. But people were too tired even to complain. All the tents had been assembled, and some people were retiring to bed.

There was a shriek of laughter near the fire as one of the Alphas told a joke, and on the other side of the wall of flame, some other kids (Jocelyn, Riley and Juan) were deep in the midst of a ghost story about the very woods they were in, and how they were haunted by a witch who murdered three student filmmakers who'd tried to film her a few years ago – it wasn't a very original story, but it kept them entertained none the less. Their teacher, Ms. Mentira, had gone to her luxury tent a while ago, so most of the kids who were still up were taking the opportunity to mess about away from Ms. Mentira's watchful glare.

The tent furthest from the fire, nestled between two really leafy Ash trees, was pretty quiet, except for the slight heavy breathing coming from within of someone who was obviously asleep. That heavy breathing belonged to Spencer, who was sharing a tent with Xavier who was still sitting up beside the fire, flirting with Keeley. He had not been asleep for five minutes, when the front flap of his tent slowly started to unzip. The zipper moved so slowly that it never made a single sound. It took awhile for the front flap to be completely zipped open, but once it did the cold night air seemed to flood into the tent. The laughter from outside the tent was louder now, and so was the crackling of the fire, and Spencer felt himself awakening, and he opened one drowsy eye. He peered down at the flap of the tent, and saw a hunched black figure staring silently at him.

The tent was dark, as was the outside, and Spencer could only tell that someone was actually there because that someone was framed by the dancing flames of the fire behind him/her. Spencer quickly jerked out of his sleep and grabbed his flashlight that was sitting right beside him, flicked the switch and shone the beam at the dark intruder.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," laughed Darius, as Spencer's light blinded him a little. He was so used to the dark that the sudden shaft of light hurt his eyes.

"I wasn't afraid," Spencer snorted, "but I was asleep, and you woke me up."

"Sorry dude," Darius replied superficially and crawled into the tent, zipping the flap up behind him.

"What do you think you're doing?" Spencer snapped suddenly, a sense of urgency in his voice and sharply sat upright, his lime sleeping bag falling to his waist, revealing his tanned, muscular chest.

"What do you think?" Darius asked salaciously, as a wide grin spread across his smooth features. He leaned over and his lips met Spencer's.

Their kiss was hard and passionate, the kiss of lovers who have been wanting that kiss all day, who have been watching each other and waiting for each other but who haven't been able to, and finally, in the privacy of the tent their two mouths met and their kiss felt so good. Unfortunately for both of them, it was broken off abruptly by Spencer.

"We can't, not here!" he exclaimed and gently, albeit reluctantly, pushed Darius back a little.

"Why not?" Darius protested, "no one's coming, X is too busy flirting with that idiot Keeley." Darius lurched forward again, this time placing his hands on Spencer's shoulders, pulling him closer to his lover. Spencer, gave a more forceful push this time, sending Darius nearly across the tent.  
"No, it's too risky!" Spencer whispered angrily.

Darius gave a hurt look, and went to unzip the tent and take his leave;

"Wait!" Spencer called before Darius could go, and a small furtive smile found its way onto Darius' face.

"Meet me behind this tent in 5 minutes, don't let anyway see you!" Spencer called, and Darius winked and slipped out of the tent as quietly as he had entered.

How exciting! Sex in the woods so close to the other classmates and nobody's allowed to know! Darius was thrilled as he crept back to his tent to grab his coat (although there was not much point, as in 5 minutes time, with any luck, he wouldn't be wearing any clothes). Spencer had a really sexy body, he was on the football team and was one of the vital players on the team, and he worked out a lot! Darius felt sort of ashamed sometimes when he saw Spencer naked, because Spencer looked so good, he was so muscled and slim, and although Darius wasn't obese or anything, he still wasn't in as good shape as Spencer was.

He began unzipping the flap to his own tent, and his mind was racing with thoughts of Spencer, with what they were going to do to each other in a matter of moments, with how much he loved him and with how much he wished they could be an official couple, out in the open. At school, Spencer and Darius never even spoke; they never even chatted to each other or even said hey as they passed each other in the corridor. Nobody suspected a thing, except for Riley, Darius' ex-girlfriend/friend who he told everything to. Spencer insisted that their relationship be kept secret, because if his sexuality was disclosed, he said it would ruin his life. It was probably easier for Darius that it be kept quiet as well, but he still wished that someday they could walk down the street together holding hands. Darius always got jealous when he saw straight couples kissing in a shop or in a café; 'they don't know how lucky they are' he would think. It annoyed him that he couldn't be open like that with Spencer, but for the time being he was just happy enough meeting Spencer surreptitiously.

Darius picked his coat up, zipped up the tent again without waking Brody (who he was sharing the tent with) and began to creep back to Spencer's tent. He began to think of the first time he met Spencer...

It was a few months ago back at school, he'd been in Spencer's chemistry class, but he'd never spoken to him, but he'd always thought Spencer was cute. But not cute in an obsessed way, he was just nice to look at. Darius didn't have a crush on him or anything. He'd often catch Spencer staring at him, much to Spencer's chagrin, but he never thought anything of it. He just thought Spencer was one of those guys who got bored easily in Chemistry class (like most people) and spent the lesson looking wildly about the place like a child looking for ways to entertain himself.

It was one of those crisp autumnal days where the wind whipped the leaves violently around in the air, and the air was so cold that it stung your ears and your eyes. Darius was sitting in the locker rooms after one of the most miserable gym lessons he'd ever had. He was getting changed, and hadn't noticed that Blake and Cole were still in the locker room. On their way out they went strangely quiet and purposefully knocked into Darius as they went.

"Hey watch it!" Darius called out angrily, before he realised who it was; Blake and Cole, the two alpha male jocks! Two of the most popular kids in school! Darius suddenly felt panicky and looked away, hoping that Blake and Cole would just walk out. They didn't.

"What did you say dickhead?" Cole barked angrily and stomped towards Darius, his teeth were clenched, and his face was twisted with cold ire, the muscles on his arms bulged and glistened in the pale light of the locker room. Darius couldn't help himself from thinking about how cute Cole was, even through all his panic.

"Nothing," Darius murmured, he swallowed hard and looked away and Cole knew he was afraid. Blake sniggered in the background somewhere.

Darius swallowed his humiliation, "sorry," he croaked.

A satisfied sneer unfolded across Cole's handsome face, "that's better."

He gave Darius one more disdainful look and then left with Blake, shouting "faggot," as he went.

Darius stood, humiliated, he swallowed hard. He felt like crap. He was so angry; he was filled with rage, but not at Cole and/or Blake. He was angry at himself. Why did he let himself be treated like that? Why did he say sorry? Why didn't he say something else, why didn't he call them dickheads? Why was he so weak? He sat down on the stilted seat that was wet and slippery, from someone's towel that had been lying there earlier. His shamed head fell into his hands as he began the all too familiar routine of self-deprecation and wallowing in his own misery.

But his approaching self-hate was halted by something that Darius did not expect.

"Don't worry about them, they're idiots," came a deep, although gentle voice.

Darius looked up, Spencer stood in front of him, looking down at him sympathetically.

His black hair was still wet from the showers, and his face hadn't been shaven in awhile. He towered over Darius, making Darius feel even smaller.

Darius didn't know what to think, was this guy for real? Spencer was friends with Cole and Blake. Was he trying to be funny, was he taking the piss? "What's it to you," Darius snapped. He grabbed his school bag and stomped out of the locker room, leaving the kindly Spencer standing alone.

That was the first time that he met Spencer, and it probably wasn't the best first impression. He was embarrassed when he saw Spencer after that because he felt pathetic and he knew Spencer had seem him when he was mortified and vulnerable. It wasn't long after that until he'd met Spencer again one night at a bar, Spencer was playing pool and he hadn't seen Darius come in...Darius' musings were cut short when he saw a familiar, lofty figure in the shadows behind Spencer's tent. He crept over and although you couldn't tell in the pitch black, there was a wide grin on his face. He felt the darkness with his hand until it was clasped by another hand; large and warm. Spencer pulled Darius into him and kissed him tenderly, together they crept off into the dark.

Elsewhere in the dark, another couple had met up to perform other dark deeds. Garrett and Bailey had found a nice leafy mound; the perfect make-shift bed, and within a couple of minutes of their meeting, Bailey had her top off (although her top hadn't left much to the imagination anyway) and Garrett was enthusiastically fondling her. Not a pretty girl, Bailey knew that Garrett liked her a lot, but Bailey had just showed up for sex. The hike to the camping spot had completely wrecked her (she was unfit; it must've been all the smoking) and to make matters worse she had lost her dope in the woods somewhere. Sex with this guy was the next best thing to smoking dope, she just wished he'd hurry up and get on with it.

She fell back on the leafy mound and felt the sweet smell of the earth, she pulled Garrett close and felt him pressed up against her. She decided she'd need to quit the foreplay before he gets too horny and blows his load too early. Bailey quickly whipped her mini-skirt off (a move which she had perfected over years of practice) and Garrett got down to business. He was sweating and breathing heavily and suddenly he was inside her. Bailey groaned and squeezed her legs around him tighter. But something happened which made her forget completely about Garrett flopping about on top of her, a dark shadowy figure had just swooped past his head. Maybe she was seeing things in the pale moonlight, but once again she saw the figure swoop by, followed by the sound of sliced air.

"What's that?" Bailey whispered, alarmed.

"Huh?" Garrett mumbled and continued thrusting.

Bailey sat still for a moment and listened for any noises around her, she moved her head from side to side to see if anything was moving. She couldn't see very far because the moonlight was weak enough as it was, but any other beams of moonlight were blocked out by the craggy tree boughs reaching out into the night sky. She listened and could hear faint laughter from the camp which was a quite a walk away. Garrett had insisted on them finding this remote spot to fuck, Bailey didn't mind much but Garrett seemed to want privacy. Why did he care about what the others thought? Anyway, this was no time to be getting into this, her instincts were telling her she was in trouble and she wanted to go. Bailey was a tough gang-girl and never got afraid easily but something was happening around her that felt so unnatural. That thing that swooped by wasn't a bat or any other animal like that, it was much too big.

Garrett was thrusting harder now and his breathing had quickened, the noise of his pounding breath, his heavy breath and the buzzing blood flowing around her ears, the smell of his sweat and the taste of his skin had blocked out her senses. She started to suffocate; she had to get him off! But before she began to protest, Garrett let out a loud, guttural moan and then fell, panting, on Bailey. He'd finished. "Ok, thanks, let's go!" Bailey said quickly and pushed Garrett's sweaty body off her.

"What's the rush?" he laughed, "give me a few minutes and we can go again."

"Save it for later," Bailey simpered; she was almost crying now, "Let's go!"

"What's your problem? You wanted it earlier. Fuck its true what people say about you –" Garrett began but his tirade was cut short by Bailey's shriek.

"What the fuck is that?" she squawked.

A monstrous black figure was behind Garrett, standing silently. Before there was a second to think, or to do anything, it darted forwards and as it came there was a wet, bone-crunching sound followed by an iron smell. The figure came face to face with Bailey and a hot malodorous wave swept over her, it was too dark to make out any of its features but everything about it was baleful. It stood and breathed its dead breath on her and then shot upwards into the sky and was swallowed by the darkness. Nearly paralysed with fear, Bailey could not hold back her tears and they rolled freely down her cheeks. She suddenly became aware of something warm and wet covering her chest and legs, was it Garrett's semen? No wait...why was Garrett lying down? Bailey became sickeningly aware of the substance that she was splattered in; it was Garrett's blood. That thing had completely eviscerated him.

Overcome with primal fear Bailey turned and dashed off into the woods, but she was so confused and frightened, she didn't even know in which direction she was running. Her heart beat harder than it ever had before, and an electric terror snaked up her spine. She pumped her skinny legs and ran as fast as she could, but she didn't get far. She heard the wind whistle behind her and she smelt that deathly stench again. Suddenly, she felt a sharp sting in her chest and everything fell calm and still around her. She felt herself being yanked up into the air and then she too was swallowed up by the darkness, not the darkness of night however, the eternal darkness of the dead...


	3. Chapter 3: Mentira

Being a very private and very dignified young woman, even the thought of urinating behind a bush right beside a group of her peers made her embarrassed, let alone actually doing it – even though it was six o'clock in the morning and that group of peers were all in a deep slumber. Jocelyn was so tempted just to run behind that oak tree and relieve herself but if anyone caught her she'd be mortified! No one was up, but she couldn't take the risk, therefore she groggily twisted out of her sleeping bag, pulled on her soggy hiking boots (they were wet with the morning dew) and crept off into the thicket to find a nice, clandestine, little spot where she could do her business.

* * *

A shrill screech pierced the wet morning air, sending a flock of birds out of their sylvan nests, soaring high into the sky, their wings beating as they flew. At the campsite, tired campers were jolted out of their sleep (most of them anyway, Brody, a well known dope-head, could sleep through a nuclear holocaust). The brown, leathery tent at the head of the camp was the first to open, from its narrow entrance popped a small, pale face. The woman to whom this face belonged had prickly features; a short, spiked nose and tight, pursed lips, slanted, narrowed eyes and a tapering, pointed chin. She had shiny black hair which was perpetually pulled back in a painfully tight bun, which crowned her sharp little face. Her sour countenance gave the bitter impression that this woman had been forever sucking lemons. This woman was the class leader; Ms. Mentira.

She scanned the awakening camp quickly, trying to figure out where that scream had come from. She reached over into her knapsack and pulled out a long, olive green coat which felt quite waxy. She put it on speedily then crawled out of her tent.

"Come on!" she yelled in her ringing voice, "everyone up, we have a long day ahead of us."

There was a manifold of groans from nearly every tent all over the camp followed by the sound of zips unzipping and people falling out of their tents yawning with pale faces and eyes half-closed.

"Okay, Leonardo, Rain and Wesley, I want you to quickly light a fire and get breakfast going," Ms. Mentira ordered and her three appointed assistants grunted and nodded tiredly.

"Ms. Mentira?" Cadence asked quite loudly, "did you hear that scream just then? I think it was Jocelyn, I can't find her anywhere!"

Cadence was very much a sophisticated girl and was also quite pretty with long silky brown hair; she was the mayor's daughter and was the best friend of Jocelyn. Her delicate features which oft reminded people of a porcelain doll were twisted in consternation over the disappearance of her closest friend.

"Yes Cadence I heard that scream. Please don't be alarmed," Ms. Mentira said soothingly, "I am sure everything is fine. I'll go check it out but first can I please get a count of everyone who is here."

Everyone lined up outside of Ms. Mentira's tent as she silently counted everyone in front of her. "There are only 23 of you here!" Ms. Mentira exclaimed once she had finished counting, "where are the other five?"

"Darius wasn't in the tent when I woke up this morning," Brody said groggily.

"I can't find Jocelyn anywhere," Cadence cried out again.

"Where's Garrett? I don't think Garrett's here?" Leonardo queried, looking around.

"I haven't seen Spencer since last night," Xavier called out.

"Jocelyn, Garrett, Spencer and Darius," Ms. Mentira ascertained, "and who else?"

There was a short silence.

"Oh – I haven't seen Bailey, I don't think she's here," stuttered Regan as she mentioned the absence of the class outcast.

"…and Bailey," Ms. Mentira murmured, almost to herself.

"Whoever shared a tent with any of the missing five stay here, everyone else get dressed, take down your tent and help prepare breakfast, we have a long day of hiking ahead of us," Ms. Mentira barked.

Everyone scurried off, excited by the disappearances of their classmates, they gossiped about what may have happened to them - everyone, of course, except for Cadence, Brody, Regan, Xavier and Leonardo. They were the five who were sharing tents with the missing five, and Ms. Mentira quizzed them with all the fervour of a police officer quizzing a serial murderer. And she did right, too, for if kids went missing on her camping trip while she was in control, her job could be on the line! And she was worried about the missing kids' welfare as well, of course.

Through her questioning, she determined that Darius and Spencer had been missing since last night and sometime before that Bailey and Garrett had gone off into the woods together ("probably to smoke dope together," Brody confessed). Jocelyn had disappeared sometime that morning ("she probably went for a morning walk," Cadence guessed, "she likes walking in the morning when everything's quiet"). Ms. Mentira was a little worried by the disappearance of so many kids but she tried not to show any fret. "Okay kids, go take down your tents," Ms. Mentira said to the campers she had been questioning, and then she started her journey out into the woods to search for the missing five.

* * *

Lying on a bed of leaves, Darius hugged Spencer's muscular, hirsute body close to him. He had just awoken after hearing noises coming from the camp. He knew they had to go back to camp as soon as possible but it was always mornings like this that Darius loved. He always woke up before Spencer did and he would always lie awake for ages, holding Spencer's body, listening to his heart beat and the rhythm of his breathing. At times like these Darius wanted to be no where else in the world, he was so happy and he felt so … found.

He realised that if he landed back in camp with Spencer, people would start asking questions as to why those two were hanging around together? So he decided to wake Spencer up and get back as soon as possible. Hopefully, whilst the others were all distracted by the bustle of packing up tents and getting prepared for the rest of the hike, Darius and Spencer could filter back into camp unnoticed.

"Hey," Darius whispered, his voice hoarse with sleep, "we should get back quickly."

Spencer took in a deep breath and opened his lazy eyes, peering out at Darius. Before he said anything he leaned over and kissed Darius tenderly on the lips. Darius' smiled beautifully and his eyes shone with a loving light.

"Let's go," Spencer whispered. They stood up and got dressed, and kissed once more, then made their way back to camp.


	4. Chapter 4: Rain

Rain Veladore sat on a gnarly log, it made her ass feel sore and itchy, but she was too tired to do anything about it. Yesterday, Rain had unwittingly pitched her tent upon a massive branch and when she went to bed it poked her painfully in the back, stopping her from sleeping for hours and when she had finally drifted off she was jolted out of her sleep by that horrible scream in the early hours. Her eyes were half-glued together by sticky sleep, her face was smudged with dirt (she had slipped and fallen when preparing the camp fire this morning – much to the amusement of the rest of her classmates) and her hands were smeared with bean sauce (after falling over, she had proceeded to spill a can of beans all over herself when preparing breakfast). She was a mess, but she usually always was anyway, so she didn't mind. It's not like anyone cared.

Taylor marched past Rain and accidentally tripped on Rain's outstretched foot, "Uh! Excuse me!" Taylor exclaimed haughtily, with a disgusted scowl on her face when she realised who it was who had tripped her. Rain just looked away. Taylor stormed off. Everyone was rushing about around her, putting out the fire, getting dressed, taking down tents and preparing hiking equipment but Rain sat quiet and alone in all the bustle. She had always been one of the class outcasts, so much so that she no longer cared for their company; in fact she no longer wanted their company. She was fine just by herself; she had survived for so long this way.

Rain's hair was lank and greasy; a messy explosion of jet blacks and depressing purples. Her eyes were always shadowed with purple make-up, and her lips were always delicately painted in deep purple also. Her skin was pale and marked with tiny pimple scars and her mouth always hung in a sulky glower. Despite her overtly cheerless appearance, Rain's dreary eyes marked a much more subtle sadness; a deep, hidden despair that clung to the depths of her bloody heart and sucked the life from her watery grey eyes. Her dark personality, mordant and morose, complemented her appearance well. Was it any wonder people kept their distance from Rain?

Rain looked around the camp, at the boys and the girls, as they laughed and joked with one another. She caught the fleeting fires of lust in that boy's eyes as he stared at the girl who bent over to pick up an empty tin, or she caught the poisonous envy in that girl's eyes, as she watched the boy to whom her heart solely belonged, kiss and cuddle another girl. She saw those boys who helped each other take down their tent, their eyes focused and concentrated, their movements flowing together like a single unit, she saw those girls fixing their appearances in small, oval hand-held mirrors, as they preened and reassured each other. She heard all their voices, all their jokes and ideas and dreams and opinions and at the same time she heard nothing at all. For these people weren't like her, Rain was different.

Then something else caught her sight; emerging from the shadowy thicket were two of her classmates, two of the missing classmates; Spencer and Darius. Both of them, looking a tad unkempt, stood around camp first, surveying the scene, then they quickly moved back into camp. They both looked suspiciously anxious. Rain, however, couldn't keep her eyes off Spencer. She was in love with him; a deep, pure and holy love. It was much more than an infatuation. Rain had studied this boy, she knew everything about him (or, rather, she thought she did), she knew how he spoke, how he walked, what his handwriting was like, who his favourite singer was, what his deep laugh sounded like, what irked him and what he wanted to be. She knew him so well, but she didn't know him at all. Spencer and Rain had barely ever spoken a few words to each other.

Rain resumed her endless study of Spencer, and she was so consumed by her passion for him, that she didn't even notice the expectant hush that fell on the camp. All her classmates stopped what they were doing; they put down pieces of tent, or ceased munching beans. Ms. Mentira, looking calm and collected, had re-entered the camp, and there was no sign of the other classmates with her.

"Kids, I cannot find your other – oh, Darius, Spencer, you've returned," Ms. Mentira said, interrupting herself when she caught sight of the two prodigal classmates who were standing near the back of the camp. Instantly, all their classmates turned to look at them and instantly Darius and Spencer looked awkward.

She stared at them, steely, waiting for an excuse, but none came.

"I have been terribly worried," Ms. Mentira started, but by her cool exterior, you may've thought otherwise, "how incredibly irresponsible to sneak off into the woods!" Ms. Mentira still looked calm, but her eyes now gleamed with a cold ire. She took a breath.

"Where have you been, and where are the others?" Ms. Mentira demanded.

Spencer and Darius both stood uneasily; Spencer shuffled his feet, Darius went red. Rain, however could see something much more urgent in Spencer's eyes, a hideous fear – he was hiding something. What had he and Darius been doing?

"The others?" Darius eventually said, breaking the short silence.

"Yes – Bailey, Garrett and Jocelyn," Ms. Mentira answered.

"Oh, um, well, Spencer and I had seen them go off in the woods earlier and we followed them to scare them, but we lost track of them and turned back. Um, we didn't mean to make anyone worry," Darius quickly explained/lied.

A few people glanced oddly at Spencer and Darius; they weren't even friends, why would they be going off into the woods together? Ms. Mentira glared at them, though her eyes softened. A scary computer in her head was examining the veracity of Darius' story. After a few tense seconds, Ms. Mentira nodded.

"Very well then," she said and then looked around; "everyone, get ready, we are leaving within the next five minutes."

"But Miss!" Cadence exclaimed, "what about the others? We can't just leave them!"

"They have left us!" Ms. Mentira shouted back, "there must be consequences for their complete irresponsibility and disregard. Do you think it's fair to keep everyone waiting here just for them, as they sit somewhere in the woods, probably getting high?"

"But Miss!" Cadence protested.

"Quiet, Cadence," Ms. Mentira cut her off sharply, "I will wait here by myself for their return. Then I will hike with them to the next campsite where we will meet with the rest of you."

"You want us to hike by ourselves?" Regan stuttered incredulously.

"You are all experienced enough," Ms. Mentira started, "You all know how to follow trails, you all know how to manage time, you know what flora and fauna to avoid and you all know what to do in emergency situations. And you can all read maps; the second campsite is marked on your maps," she took a short break as everyone fumbled with their maps, "a few miles from here atop a waterfall."

Everyone nodded; some looked around anxiously whilst others looked around excitedly.

"I want you all to split up into groups of five. There are five trails to follow that all lead to the second campsite. Each group will follow a different trail. Each trail has a different obstacle; one has some rock climbing, one has some river-walking, one crosses a swamp, one crosses a ravine and one cuts right through the wild thicket. Each trail is arduous, but I want each of you to do your best," Ms. Mentira commanded, "good luck," she added quietly.

The camp was once again buzzing with excitement, people hurriedly formed groups, hoping to be in a group with their friends and not to be left out. Rain still sat on the gnarly log, barely noticing all the commotion. She still watched Spencer. The fear in his eyes had now subsided; they were soon replaced with that sad benevolence with which she had fallen in love with in the first place. She could tell he wanted to look at Darius, but he dared not to. What was he hiding? Darius looked guilty, as if he had let someone down although he also looked relieved.

"Hey Rain," came a chirpy voice, "you want to be in our group?"

The chirpy voice belonged to Caridad, who was as charitable as her name suggested. She had a thick Mexican accent and loved to take sympathy on the lesser. She was in a group with the other Hispanic kids; Juan, Leonardo and Catalina.

"Uh, sure," Rain mumbled, her voice hoarse from disuse.

Caridad smiled a sweet smile that bordered between being patronising and being genuinely kind.

"Well then get a move on! Your tent is still up!" Catalina barked looking at Rain with disdain, a look Rain had seen often. Rain was like the omega wolf in a pack. Anyone, even people who didn't even know her, could boss her around or talk shit to her and she just took it. Rain looked around and realised that hers was the only tent still standing (besides Ms. Mentira's). She quickly stood up (her bum really ached when she did) and began to dissect her tent. Caridad had only asked Rain to be in their group because all the other groups had been formed, and it was an eventuality that Rain would join their group anyway. Caridad liked to do seemingly good deeds, it made her feel like a nice person, but secretly she wished Rain was in another group. She disliked her as much as the next kid. After a couple of minutes of rabid disassembly, Rain was ready.

Ms. Mentira took a note of all the groups, and who was in them, and then wished them good luck and bade them farewell. They all travelled together out of the campsite, chatting excitedly as they went, until their paths split into the five aforementioned trails. The classmates all waved their goodbyes, some proposed a race to see which group could make it to the next campsite first, and then they all splintered into their groups and disappeared down their respective trails. Ms. Mentira sat alone in the camp, hers was the only tent still erected, the grass around her was flattened and there were some sweet wrappers littering the place. She decided that she may as well go back to sleep for awhile; she supposed she would need all the rest she could get, it looked like it would be a stressful day ahead.

* * *

The sweet smell of the dead lingered on the air, and it had attracted more than a few creatures to the glade from which it emanated. A hungry raven perched on a branch overlooking the gruesome scene below it, a small forest wild cat was hiding in the undergrowth, watching and waiting to see if it was safe for him to enter the glade and a pulsating pile of maggots feasted on the cold flesh of the dead bodies strewn around the glade. Garrett's body, slashed in two, lay spread out. Death had frozen the twisted expression of terror on his face. Near him, lay the nearly unrecognizable body of Bailey.

She was missing an arm and some digits on her foot. Her face was completely torn open; her nose was gone and one of her eyeballs was missing, leaving behind it a suppurating, purulent hole. Part of her head was completely cracked off, revealing a rotting, grey mass beneath it. Her tongue was cut viciously, and was now a raw and bloody mess and her broken body was completely eviscerated. Her skin, or what was left of it, was moon-pale. Bailey wasn't a pretty girl in life, and she definitely wasn't in death.

A creature of pure malevolence and mindless destruction was responsible for these painful deaths. A creature that had just whet its taste for blood and who was hungry for more, one who now had its beady, inky eyes fixed on the other classmates of its poor victims. However this creature could not take the whole credit for all of those who lay dead in the glade; for another body lay near those of Bailey's and Garrett's. This body belonged to Jocelyn, and was as cold and as white as frost. Her glassy grey eyes were open and lifeless; her pretty face was smeared with caked, dark-red blood. But what killed Jocelyn was not a monstrous slash, or a gruesome clawing. No, what killed Jocelyn was a single hollow-point bullet which had been fired directly into her head.


	5. Chapter 5: Verity Road

"What a crock of shit!"

The wheels of her little blue clio spun viciously along the road and from beneath them came a sheet of dust, standing opaque and defiant in the air for a few seconds, before crumbling and crashing to the roadside like the foam from a wave.

"Really, is this what it had come to?"

Cursing under her breath, Verity Wells fumbled with opening a pair of sunglasses whilst still speeding down the road. Her speed and inattention mattered little anyway as the road was completely clear. She had been driving on it now for twenty minutes and had seen not a soul.

She sped past a lonely little sign perched by the roadside; she wasn't sure what colour the sign was originally, but years of sitting in the sun had bleached it into a faint yellow. With a small white arrow it pointed towards 'Inhambane,' which was 50km away and also, her target destination. Though she had been on the road for a long time and she was hungry, tired and her legs ached, the sign did nothing but deepen her dejection.

Silly Verity Wells, in her little blue clio in a cloud of dust, speeding desperately in this lonely and forgotten road, humiliated and skimming through the dirt like someone on the run, her face pale with the forced resolve of someone in forced exile, unreachable by usually omnipresent mobile phone signals, just about able to reach any sense of purpose in what she was doing.

It was a month ago that Verity had written the article that had ended her career; the article that had caused this banishment. She wasn't aware that when she was typing the article on her laptop, she was actually masterfully assembling the circuit of a bomb and she wasn't aware that when she sent the article to her editor's office, she had pressed the detonator and she wasn't aware of that bomb relentlessly tick-tick-ticking until the day it was published.

On that day a great and terrible explosion of public uproar, scathing criticism and threats of legal action had brought her whole world down around her; her boyfriend, friends, job, sense of professionalism, all raining down violently around her like shrapnel. The blast sent her sliding and scurrying into the shelter of her apartment where she holed up for days, alone with her liquor cabinet, phone unplugged, mobile phone switched off, internet disconnected.

She was rescued by her brother, who waded through the rubble of hate-mail and clinking empty bottles, picked her up, flung her in his van and departed the city and all the devastation she had left behind. She spent some time recuperating at his home in a small seaside town far far away. Once everything had calmed down, she realised that she couldn't let this finish her, that her passion to write was too great, that her career was not a job but an extension of her, which she could pour into newspapers and magazines, forming little black words which in turn would form the ideas in the minds of her readers, the words on their lips.

This was important to her. She couldn't give that up. That article had destroyed her career, but once the fire had burned out and the smoke had cleared, the foundations stood still, damaged and crumbling, but still standing. And like the city rebuilding itself after an air raid, she would rebuild herself, she would come back. But she had to start somewhere, and that somewhere was Inhambane.

"For fuck's sake…"

She groaned, as the underbody of her car screeched in pain whilst bashing off a sharp piece of rock jutting up from the road.

"This fucking road….where even is this place."

No one had wanted to employ Verity after the scandal her article caused. She did not take each job rejection well, shame and frustration chipped away at her already fragile foundations. She was good, she was a good journalist, a good writer, but it didn't matter if her reputation was destroyed.

After a few weeks she got a break, or as close to a break as she was going to get, and landed a job as a columnist for _FREAK_ magazine, a once-monthly glossy that explored the weird wonders of the world. As well as reporting on strange events around the world, pushing the borders of pseudoscience into the realm of pseduotruth and updating old ghost stories (i.e. retelling sexier and more violent versions), it also contained biographies of serial killers, reviewed horror films and video games, printed photos of naked anime girls and had a submit your own story section. It was the monthly wet dream of fourteen year old geeks, would be witches and paranormal fans all over the nation, and to be fair, it did have a pretty good circulation considering the content. _FREAK_ applauded the hiring of Verity Wells as their new "field journalist;" her eviscerated reputation brought a new level of intrigue and suspicion to the magazine.

She had been with _FREAK, _for three months now, and her job as field journalist was a poorly paid exploration into the world of weird, which for her was a world of the inane and pointless. So far she had gone to a city two states over to interview a sixty year old woman (who she was sure was at least half demented) who had 'lost time' and would suddenly end up in random places (yes, dementia) and a man who's dog was apparently psychic. She wrote the columns to the best of her ability, trying to write them eerie and tantalising but found the subject matter such bullshit that she felt she was undermining everything she ever was. Her next assignment was; "The Missing Tourists of Inhambane."

Apparently, twenty three years ago a group of tourists were in a bus exploring Inhambane and the areas around it, such as Mayflower Way and the Europium Plains when they all went missing. The area is huge and sparsely populated. Apart from a few random farmsteads, the only real settlement in the region is Inhambane, which you could barely call a town. There was some intense media coverage and a thorough police investigation. The bus was eventually found in a gorge, half-submerged in a fast flowing river in the heart of Mayflower Way. Some of the bodies were recovered and were horribly disfigured, and it was difficult to identify them all.

The police report concluded that the bus was caught up in a freak hurricane which had then recently passed through Mayflower and close to Inhambane, exactly around the time the tourists would have been in the area. They decided that none of the tourists would have known the weather forecast because there was no phone signal or radio reception that far out there. Officially the storm forced the bus off the narrow road, down a steep drop along a cliff side and into the gorge, irreparably destroying the vehicle, crushing most of the tourists – which would explain the disfigurement of the bodies. Only a few bodies were recovered, the rest, the police had decided, must have been washed away in the river in which the bus had landed. Although a second police search lasted for a few months, no other bodies were ever retrieved.

Media coverage pretty much stopped and as the years wore on, the event faded from recent memory. Apart from a few references made to the event in documentaries on natural disasters, the only other times it was mentioned was by conspiracy theorists who had commented that the bodies in the photos looked too disfigured to be crush injuries, and one of the tourist's sisters who had a copy of the travel itinerary stating that they weren't supposed to be near that specific area at the time the hurricane was said to have passed through.

_FREAK _now decided that it was time they sent their own personal investigator into the scene to print a little column on the event. Verity guessed that she'd have to show up in Inhambane, talk to the backward locals about what happened, listen to their crackpot theories and a few local ghost stories, write the story in such a way that it seems vague and dubious and get a few snapshots to tie it all up. She hated doing this, writing a story like this was like going against her ethical journalism code. All those tourists had died in a freak accident, it wasn't fair to them or their relatives to use their misfortune as a story about how they'd been massacred by a roaming band of cannibals or murdered by a witch.

But she had to begin somewhere. She was professionally at the lowest point in her career, but she was continually rebuilding herself. _FREAK_ may not have been the pinnacle of media excellence, but it was a decent start. Her plan was to write for the magazine for a few months, maybe a year, then to start freelancing as a political journalist (her previous job). She knew no respectable papers would want to print any of her work, but she still had some friends in the business that refused to abandon her, even when everyone else had turned on her. The world of journalism was as capricious as the tides of the sea, always changing, always pushing and pulling. She knew that if she could convince her friends to give her one shot, she'd find the best story she could and publish another bomb. This time however it would blow everyone else out of the water, leaving her the only ship sailing on an unsteady sea whose currents had finally started to bring her back to the shore.


	6. Chapter 6: Trails

**TRAIL 1: THE THICKET**

Dazzling rays of the sun's light blasted through the arid air, scorching the thicket. The lazy buzzing of hovering insects and the crunching steps of feet on dry, harsh grass made up the background noise to the otherwise silent travelling group. The air was thick with pine and sweat. Blake stopped and glugged down some water kept ice cold in his flask, it tasted like heaven.

He moved on quickly, before the other "alphas" in his group had a chance to catch up with him. He used his walking stick like a machete, his sinew shining as he sliced a pathway through the thicket. He was leading the group towards the second camping spot marked on his map. His group had chosen this trail as it appeared to be the quickest way to get to the spot (located above a waterfall), pretty much just keep heading straight. Other groups had tried to claim the trail and protested but were easily shouted down. However Blake had not considered how exhausting it was to literally mow his way through the undergrowth.

They were, in any case, making good progress, and would likely be the first group to reach the camping spot, just in time to jump into the cool plunge pool of the waterfall under the midday sun. With this driving thought in mind, Blake swiped again and again, taking down more vegetation. Blake was easily the most athletic out of all the alphas. He was known to the others as being 'hyper-active' or jittery. Always moving and always planning something, he was never very good at just chilling out. He masked it as well as he could, but Blake was quite an anxious individual. Although he was happy with his standing amongst his friends and school, he was unnerved by the littlest of things and was always edgy.

Ever since he was around fourteen, he began to become hypochondriacal. If he couldn't concentrate properly on his homework he might have a brain tumour, a typical teenage spot he had could be a malignant skin cancer, a cold was pneumonia. He became wary of germs and washed his hands until they cracked and bled. He exercised for hour's everyday, strengthening his body to fend off invisible infections. He was afraid of sickness and disease; he never wanted to end up like his mother, stroked out, lying diagonal on a chair with half her face zombied, dribbling, and unable to chew. He NEVER wanted someone else to have to pull down his pants and change him because he'd wet himself like a baby, the way he had to change his mother at least a few times a day.

His heart was racing; he felt that familiar, hot, panic thinking about his mother at home, in the gloom of her dark bedroom. He thrashed his stick around him harder, tearing a pathway through the thicket. And then he stopped. He was shocked.

Curled up on the floor, half dust, bleached yellow by the unforgiving sun with two terrible dark holes for eyes, a little skeleton sat and looked at him. It lay between the buttress roots of an ancient tree in a small copse clearing Blake had cut his way into. The skull was cracked as were some ribs, eerie reminders of a forgotten trauma. Its legs had disintegrated and were gone, but its torso and upper limbs were in tact, adorned with a twisting vine which had sprouted small pink flowers, sickeningly pretty. The whole scene was silently terrifying.

"Shit!"

The others had caught up with him, and their faces were equally as shocked to find this skeleton of a secret death.

**TRAIL 2: THE SWAMP**

Leonardo Benigno Valladares' eyes were ovoid and coloured like little chocolate drops. This, coupled with their slightly slanted appearance, always gave the impression he was sleepy. His hair was messy, but the kind of messy that looked cool, and always crumbled down slightly over his sleepy eyes. His jaw was well-defined, almost equine. He was tallish for his age. He was playful yet relaxed and the way he didn't seem to care or delve into class politics, provided him with an air of maturity some of the other kids didn't have. Some of the girls (especially Catalina) felt a strong sense of security in him which obviously drew them towards him. He may have been perceived to possess all these qualities, but at the end of the day he was a kid and had his own silly ideas and insecurities like everyone else. But his quiet confidence had landed him the role of default leader of his little travelling group, and with his compass and map in hand, he did his best to try and lead.

He came atop a small grassy hummock, unscrunched his scrunched up map and tried to make sense of the confusing landscape in front of him. His group had been landed with the swamp trail, the trail that no other group wanted to take.

"Ah fuck man," Juan raged. He had tried to argue with some of the others about fair distribution of the trails, but to no avail. Leonardo, however, swallowed his initial disappointment and salvaged what positivity he could from their imposition.

_Ok…it will be challenging, and harder to find practical trails through the swamp without having to wade waist deep in shitty bog water, but that means that we'll get a better experience, and maybe actually learn more. That will count for something in the long run, right?_

In front of him was a mass of tangled wood and vine; strange trees with grey, gnarled skin whose trunks twisted and turned as they grew into the air. These trees grew so close together, curling around each other in an aggressive, florid tapestry, almost blocking out all light. They were decorated with all kinds of creeping vegetation; patches of a sickly yellow fungus clinging to bark, large white flowers blushing a slight pink as they opened to the morning sun and thick, wet vines suspended from branches. They grew from an expansive mass of swamp; stagnant tea coloured water ever flooding the forest floor, a viscous scum emanating a malodorous air so powerful it almost stung the eyes and throat. It was covered by a layer of thick brownish algae. It occasionally bubbled methane gas.

Leonardo's diligent little troupe formed a semicircle around him.

"Shit, this place stinks…why the fuck did we take this trail," Juan continued to grumble.

"Doesn't smell too pretty…" Catalina remarked flatly, in a dour tone, lifting one hand to shield the nose of her otherwise expressionless face. Taciturn and aloof, she didn't speak much, and when she did it was usually to express dissatisfaction.

Caridad scrunched up her nose, and class loser Rain who had tagged along with their group surveyed the area through bleak eyes, and said nothing at all.

"Guys its okay, I think if we aim left a bit, there's a solid path we can take through this swamp, that cuts right through to the other side. It might be a bit tricky to find, but if there are five of us looking it shouldn't be too difficult," Leonardo turned and said to the four pissed off faces looking at him.

"Aint no way I'm wading through that piss water," Juan shot while shaking his head; he was still annoyed that the alpha group took the easiest trail.

"We won't have too! Leo says we can find a trail!" Caridad chirped.

"I don't see no trail!"

"We'll find it," Leonardo reasoned, his voice calm.

"I believe Leo, let's move," Catalina stated bluntly.

Her face was beautiful but still, her dark eyes were beautiful but hard. She moved off in front of the group, taking the lead and aiming to the left of the wood in front of her, like Leonardo had suggested.

When with Catalina, there was always a feeling that she was detached. She was perpetually distant from those around her, and the gap she left in between was frozen and unsettling. The disquiet she expelled however brought her respect; when she spoke people listened and when she moved, they followed.

And so the group set out again, down the slight slope towards the swamp forest. Caridad caught up alongside Juan and leaned her little head against his naked shoulder, playfully comforting him as he continued to complain. He lightened up a little with her touch. Rain lagged behind, mute and seemingly absent, her mind elsewhere.

Leonardo caught up with Catalina.

"Thanks for helping me out;" Leonardo said to Catalina, "it can be hard leading a group of people sometimes, especially when Juan starts kicking off." Leonardo turned and mischievously threw a small clod of wet dirt at Juan who now had one arm draped over Caridad's shoulder.

"What the fuck man!" Juan shouted while ducking.

Caridad sniggered.

"It's okay," Catalina paused, "you're good at it."

Leonardo took Catalina's compliment silently and shot her an askance glance. He knew not to poke and prod her too much with words. He knew she was a tough girl, he knew her family. He knew most of the Hispanic families in the area they lived.

"Being a leader isn't easy…" he remembered his Dad sigh once as he sat down, bleary eyed and looking old after a day of work. He remembered watching his Dad idly twirl his fork in his hand, too distracted by undisclosed thoughts even to eat. He knew his Dad took his job very seriously and happenings throughout the day always seemed to leave him in a state of obsessional preoccupation. His Dad was a local politician and as such fought hard for the rights of the Hispanic community. He was always organising something in which to get the community involved; fund raisers, fairs, cultural days. He praised students from the community who did well at school and got into college. He rejoiced in families whose children had respectable public sector jobs. He loved his community like how he did his own family, and his community respected him greatly in return. But while all their successes buoyed his fat and hopeful heart, their mistakes hurt him deeply. His particular community had a lot of problems; unemployment, gang issues, drug dealing, domestic abuse. All these incidents would hurt his Dad like it was his very own children who were betraying him. Like a naïve child who keeps returning to an abusive parent, he would cling on, taking each blow and kick, hoping that when the sun rises the next day, everything could change.

And Leonardo loved his Dad's drive, his trust. When he was old enough to have some insight, he recognised some of his Dad's traits in himself. For example, he loved Juan; he was his best friend, ever since they had been pretending to be power rangers together as kids. They had grown up together, almost living in each other's shoes, running with the same group of friends, playing on the same soccer team. They had shared secrets with each other, whispered only in shadows, their faces concealed by the dark. Leonardo knew how Juan had hated that he was small for his age, and that he had a younger brother he'd never met, that was living with his aunt in Oaxaca.

Leonardo had always been enthralled with Juan's imagination. Juan could sit for hours, his feet dangling from his top bunk (when Leonardo stayed over, Juan always got the top bunk) telling stories of an intricate and immense quality, and Leonardo clung, half-hypnotised, to his every word. When they started school, Juan was top of his class at language, and in middle school excelled at English literature.

And then he just…stopped. Stopped working, stopped playing sports, and stopped doing nearly anything. He had started hanging with some of the gangbangers on their estate and selling weed. He quickly got a reputation as one of the other druggie kids at school. It broke Leonardo's heart to see Juan fade into a weary eyed, clueless mess, always tired and paranoid. _Why Juan, why did you have to do that?_

"Because what else am I gonna do? This is what you're supposed to do…" Juan mumbled once, stoned. Leonardo hated how he noticed some of the other kids beginning to avoid Juan. He hated how Juan accepted carelessly that he was being pushed to the fringes of his year group. He hated how Juan used to be on the school soccer team, used to be winning prizes for essay writing, and used to have aspirations. He knew Juan was so much more than just another druggie loser kid, than just another waster, _than just another…spic_.

**TRAIL 1: THE THICKET**

Blake had for the moment forgotten his mother and his anxiety. All he could focus on was those dark, skeletal portals staring dead at him. His group had gathered around him. Everyone was silent. A weighted silence hung in the air, an apprehensive tension almost tangible. The group stood like statues, transfixed by the dead statue that returned their stare.

Then a rustling and the snap of a lighter. Brooke lit a menthol cigarette and turned away. She looked left, and right, and then up into the sun, a glowing fireball stuck in the deep blue sky. She tried to soak up its heat, its warmth, but couldn't help shake the unearthly chill that engulfed her body.

"I wonder," she murmured weakly, "how he died."

The effect of Brooke's crackly voice was like that of a witch recanting a spell; the tension dispersed at once. Normality dripped into the surreal and the shock dissipated.

Tristan shook his head and sniggered. The leader of the alphas, he worked excessively on keeping his cool and was relieved in the knowledge that no one would've paid attention to his few minutes of quiet vexation.

"A fucking skeleton," he almost shouted, "what the fuck!"

He looked around at Blake to laugh at the absurdity of their situation, but Blake was obviously still shaken by their find. Instead Tristan found Xavier's eyes, who took after his leader and spat a raucous laugh.

"This is creepy…" Taylor, Alpha Queen, whispered to herself, and moved to stand by and pet Brooke who still faced away from the skeleton.

"It's okay," Brooke murmured and gently brushed Taylor off.

"However he died," Tristan stated, "it was a long time ago. This thing is almost rotted away."

"Man we should get out of here," Blake suddenly started, "this thing is stressin' me out!"

Blake looked afraid, his eyes bulging, their whites contrasting against his black skin.

"Chill out man, its dead!"

Tristan was exasperated by Blake's uneasiness.

"It's dead!" To prove his point, Tristan thought it wise to heave a nearby rock in the air, smashing it right into the skeleton.

With a loud crack, the little skeleton's skull was destroyed in a dusty, white explosion; fragments of bone and rotten teeth flew into the air, littering the forest floor as they fell. The group once again fell silent. As the dust slowly settled, they observed the clumps of bone and white-yellowish powder. Again they became uneasy, not because they were afraid, but because they felt the sense of a wrong having been committed. They felt like Tristan's rock was the final desecration to the memory of someone who died a painful death long before.

"Sometimes, you are actually a complete dick."

Taylor's words were spoken not with venom or reaction, but flat and categorically. It was amazing how her face, so sweet and pretty could darken so violently when annoyed. It was the look on her face rather than her comment that riled Tristan.

"What? I was just fucking playing around. I'm pretty sure it didn't hurt him!" Tristan called out, but Taylor had picked up her backpack and began marching off into the thicket. Blake cast him a steely look and followed after Taylor.

"Ah man," Tristan sighed and flung his backpack around his shoulder. He walked off with Xavier, his right hand man, who stayed with him. Tristan tried to shrug off destroying the skeleton, explaining how inconsequential it was. In reality he too was a bit ashamed of what he'd done, which usually meant he'd become angry with himself, which meant he'd take his anger out on someone else (probably Xavier). He didn't know why he'd done it; he often acted on impulse – for a reaction? was it because he feared that ugly thing? was it just so he could crush something? …He wasn't sure.

Brooke lingered behind in the copse, still staring at the pathetic little skeleton on the forest floor. The temporal part of its skull was still partly in tact. Its cracked eye was still staring, this time a sorrowful gaze. Brooke murmured something to the skeleton, half an apology, half a prayer. She grabbed her pack and readied to follow the others when she noticed a little glint from the chalky, osseous ruin before her. It came from a small item, gingerly clasped in the skeleton's crumbling fingers.

_What is that?_

She stepped closer to have a look.


	7. Chapter 7: Trails II

A ghost story may not be memorable for its narrative, or its twist, but its emotion can linger for a long time. A ghost story strips away the comforts of the listener, mutating their usual security into something unrecognisable and temporarily replacing their warm reality with eerie cold. It was that same ghost story consciousness that Verity was experiencing when she finally rolled into Inhambane.

A strange little town, not very big, with dusty half-paved lanes snaking through run-down sandblasted estates. The town was built upon the sides of a valley, and its' roads ran down into the valley plain like rivers, all converging in the town centre, marked by a whitewashed, crooked church. Pulling up into this lonesome town was like entering a time slip and falling into the past.

It was late when Verity reached the town (which was extremely difficult to find). She saw only a few swarthy, perplexed faces as her car scratched its way towards the only B&B there was. She pulled to a stop and got out of her car, letting the warm night air kiss her softly; a little reward at the end of her journey. She made her way to the B&B.

**Trail 3**

The third trail ran across a ridge, and was interrupted in the middle by a steep ravine. The trek was mostly uphill and the little travelling crew complained abundantly about all their aching calves. Wesley and Nizhoni were advancing in front of the others, and there was an unspoken competition between them as to who could clear the ravine and reach the next camp spot first. Wesley would occasionally lag behind a bit so that Nizhoni would feel he was backing off, only to spring up beside her again (he was only falling behind so he could sneak a peek at Nizhoni's insouciant ass-swing).

Behind them was Cadence who hadn't spoken much since they had set off. She looked troubled, and was obviously still concerned about the disappearance of her best friend Jocelyn from camp that morning. Behind her was Amit, whose glasses caught and reflected the harsh sun giving him little flaming eyeballs. Trailing behind him was Brody, who looked anything but amused. He was thin, messy-haired and probably coming down (this was the first time in awhile that he hadn't been perpetually stoned).

Nizhoni had mostly shrugged off Wesley's flirty chat during the journey. She was entranced by the surrounding scenery. Though their trail was arguably the most difficult, when they ascended the ridge and rose out of the forest, the view was amazing. A sea of green, undulating slightly in the sporadic breeze, cut through by pewter towers of rock. It was a beautiful scene gilded by the sun and blurred by its heat, reminiscent of a water colour painting. The view may have meant more to Nizhoni, because it was a part of her heritage. Walking around Mayflower Way was like a little tour through her ancestry, through the half-told shadowy memories of her own past.

Her grandmothers voice came back to her, it sounded like pebbles crushed under shoes. She remembered vividly her grandmother's face half-lit by the flames of the cooking pit in their front garden. Her papery lips were small, and always had billows of smoke coming from them. Nizhoni experienced overwhelming nostalgia when thinking about those nights. After her family had finished cooking and eating their succotash and cornbread, her grandmother would straighten her back, tap on her wooden pipe and ceremoniously load it with tobacco and some mint leaves. Everyone in her family knew then that she was readying to tell a tale, and they'd all make themselves comfortable as her rasping voice sounded out over the quiet crackling of the fire, inviting them into a heady reverie….

**Trail 4**

Being a closet gay, Spencer had developed countless tricks and techniques to hide his own nature. He made sure to walk in the right way, to use words he otherwise probably wouldn't, to back-slap, occasionally wrestle, endlessly talk about pussy and appreciate jokes about shit. He made sure to stifle the desires that threatened to burn away every thread of the cloak he'd pull tight around himself, or at least he had done until Darius. This was his deep secret. If he could lie so expertly about his own being and deny his very own soul, then what did it matter to lie about more inconsequential things? And so Spencer often wondered what everyone else's secrets were, and he more than anyone believed that in this teenage life, no one was really who they said they were or what they wanted to be. And he wondered if they too struggled.

He wondered these things as he stared around at his adventuring group. They had chosen the trail that initially cut through the forest but eventually landed them out on a rocky prominence that continued to rise until it joined to the eastern side of Moon Hill, where the campsite they were all aiming for was. Ms Mentira had stated that this trail was the one that would involve rock-climbing, and although the steadily rising path was quite steep, there was no need to climb, yet.

Everyone was puffing and panting and so conversation was minimal. Spencer wiped some sweat from his brow and glanced around at everyone, wondering if they were thinking of their secrets. He surveyed Sunkanmi (everyone called him Sunks) for a few seconds. Sunkanmi was tall and had a leonine, proud face. In a group he was usually taciturn and aloof, but actually quite warm once engaged individually. He kept himself to himself in class as he had other friends in the year above and didn't seem bothered whether he fitted in with this class or not. Spencer envied his maturity at this age where everyone else's plastic personalities were melting and reforming all the time. Sunks understood that knowing where you fit in, can also mean knowing where you don't.

Spencer couldn't puzzle out what the composed Sunks' secret could be, and so he switched his gaze to Keeley. She had her chestnut brown eyes fixed to the rocky ground ahead, probably praying that every step would be the last of the trek. She hated sports and physical work but loved fashion, which was reflected in her highly stylised appearance. Spencer found her to be sweet, indolent and hedonistic. Hers was the tinkling laughter heard in the background of all the parties, the first pair of gyrating hips on the dance-floor and she was always the last one standing after one of their frantic bacchanals. He wondered what secrets this joyful nymph hid behind her salacious smile.

"Shit!"

Madison's scream stopped everyone in their steps, and shattered Spencer's ruminations, snapping him back to reality. He looked to where her trembling finger was pointing. There, just above their trail was a small fissure in the rock-wall, whose opening was half covered with vines. And peering from within it; was a face. A pale face, crowned with mottled dirty hair. On a small, squashed nose perched a pair of jam-jar glasses that made its owner's eyes difficult to see. This strange little face watched them eerily for a few moments, and then came forward out of the rock.

**Trail 3 **

Wesley looked askance at Nizhoni. He was frustrated; he so wanted her to want him. Or just talk to him, reciprocate a bit, but she was off in her own world. Her pointed, coppery face scanned the scenery around him and she barely noticed Wesley's existence. He didn't take well to being ignored. He had always admired Nizhoni from afar but knew little about her. She had few friends but this didn't seem to bother her. He knew she was sporty and excelled in the athletics team, and she was fiercely proud of her Nakota heritage. She attracted some jealousy from a few girls in the class, probably because for a teenage girl she seemed so collected and unbothered, and for these reasons their jealousy never really amounted to anything.

Then suddenly Nizhoni turned to Wesley and her wide eyes stared straight into his own.

"You know," she said, "my grandmother used to tell me stories about this place."

"This place?"

"Yeah, this area…Mayflower, it's where my…tribe originated from."

"Really?" Wesley was curious now, "what kind of stories?"

"Well.." Nizhoni began, straightened her back and began retelling one of her Grandmother's tales…

**A Long Time Ago**

The Minisatonwanbi people were known to their neighbouring tribes as a powerful community. Their semi-nomadic clan was one of the largest and most sprawling, and occupied most of the vales and dells of Mayflower Way. Their name, 'Water People' was a reference to their symbiotic relationship with the white torrents that gushed through their homeland and their main camp - situated on the silt plains of the mighty Makawee river. There they grew their crops on her fertile soil, played and bathed in her swirling currents, ate the fish that swam her streams and rode her temperamental watercourse on their expertly crafted canoes.

Indeed the River was the life vein that ran straight through the heart of the Water People's community. One night of each week they offered up prayers to the river, chanting her name in their circle dance and carefully placing gifts into her flow. In charge of these rituals was Mapiya, the Chieftian's daughter. She was fifteen years old and was being groomed as the new Spiritual Leader of the tribe.

Koko, the old shaman who currently held the job had been ailing for awhile. Her weather-beaten face framed by her stringy grey hair, once plump and serene, was now thin and pained. She was dying of a nameless disease, and she knew it – but she was desperate to pass on her mystical teachings to Mapiya, who would succeed her. She was adamant that the traditions and culture of her people be protected, and passed on to the next generation before she died. What would her community be without its spirituality?

Mapiya was a delicate girl, but a sharp and eager learner. She quickly mastered the arts of prayer and dance, herbal alchemy, extispicy and storytelling. Through the purple smoke of the camp fire, her sleek body would twist and turn in the ritualistic water dance Koko had drilled into her. Her fingers would work quickly, tearing at leaves and preparing roots for the elephant sap salves used to treat the wounds of the tribes' hunters. Her words would echo out over the camp at night, lulling her people into a trance as she retold stories of a forgotten age. Koko was confident that she had found an appropriate replacement in Mapiya.

Mapiya was adored and celebrated by everyone in the tribe; she was their shining example of everything a woman should be. Her marriage to a respected young hunter, Powwaw, was quickly arranged on her fifteen birthday, and their engagement was a night of excited revelry. Mapiya danced with as much intensity as anyone at the party, her beautiful robes spinning, her bejewelled headdress glinting in the firelight. No one suspected that underneath her modest smile and humble elegance, lived a frightening desire to flee. Mapiya had not chosen to be a shaman and she had not chosen to be Powwaw's wife. But she had chosen Arrow.

Arrow was a sturdy warrior from the neighbouring Tokanbi tribe, previous enemies of the Water People. Recently the two tribes had negotiated an uneasy truce and occasionally would meet to trade furs or canoes, but mostly avoided each other and crossed not into the others' territory. Almost a year ago, Arrow had been out hunting deer. The chase had been long and tortuous, lasting for hours. Eventually the deer tired and Arrow was able to land a final killing shot from his bow. The deer staggered momentarily and then collapsed.

With its death, a weary Arrow immediately took light of his surroundings and realised that he had unknowingly crossed the border into Water People territory. The truce had recently been established but if a Tokanbi warrior was spotted wandering these woods, he would surely be attacked and the truce would come undone. He made quick to collect his dead prey and head back to his homeland, when he was chanced upon by a young girl - Mapiya.

Arrow and Mapiya stood at a fair distance for awhile, both surveying each other, both wary but curious. Mapiya's pretty face was somewhat blotchy, like she had been crying. They watched each other for a long time, and then Mapiya stepped forward, brazenly and unafraid.

"You look like you have been running for a long time," she said and took a buckskin flask from inside her tunic.

Arrow carefully took the flask, uncorked it, tested the water and then greedily drank the whole thing dry.

"Thank-you."

After their initial meeting, the two started a romance acted out only in the secret glades and obscure valleys on the border of the Tokanbi land. They knew their relationship would disgrace their respective tribes, but they were bound together by something neither could resist, and so their love flourished quietly in the still forest.

And on the night of Mapiya's engagement, Arrow was waiting patiently in their usual spot. They had long been planning running away together, taking to the wild and escaping the prejudices of their tribes. However Mapiya's looming marriage had forced them to put into action their plans, and for weeks they had been hoarding supplies, as well as a canoe, ready for their flight. As the engagement party waned, and the tired revellers all flopped to the floor around the campfire, Koko took to her seat as the tribes-people all called for her to tell a tale. As she began her story, Mapiya saw this as her only chance to flee. She feigned thirst and slipped back to her tent for a flagon of water. Then she easily slipped out of sight and made for the forest.

She ran as fast as she could but she hadn't planned this part, and her ceremonial garb made running difficult. Once she was under the cover of tree and bough she calmed down a bit, caught her breath and continued to follow the well trodden path she knew would take her to Arrow. When she came upon him, his handsome face highlighted by the white of the moon, she knew she had made the right choice. They came to each other and embraced. They were both somewhat nervous and began readying their supplies.

Powwaw had, however, not been so entranced by Koko's story. His mind was wandering and racing with thoughts of Mapiya. He had previously been out hunting with Puma, one of the other warriors. Puma had told him stories about a woman's body, of a girl he had taken in the woods once. He told of how good a feeling it was to be in a girl. Ever since, Powwaw was unable to concentrate, even his hunting had suffered. He would find himself staring at women and girls all over camp, imagining tearing off their shawls and feeling their warm flesh. He would find himself hardening and would have to go off into the forest a few times a day to relieve himself, spilling his seed on the leafy floor.

And so when he saw Mapiya creep from the back of her tent into the darkness of the forest, he followed her almost automatically. He wasn't quite sure what he expected would happen or what he would do when he caught up with her, but he knew what he wanted to happen. His mind wandered back to Mapiya dancing, how she thrust her body forwards, her back arching, her hips spinning as her smooth, buttery skin glowed in the firelight. He felt his cock growing again under his breechcloth, pulsating and begging for some kind of satiety. The night sky was overcast, but even without the moon's light, Mapiya left an obvious trail. Yet, on a few occasions Powwaw almost lost where he was going as he was so distracted. He never even wondered why Mapiya had taken off into the woods in the first place. Until he found her.

Mapiya was bent over, wrapping some salted meat in deer skin and handing it to a tall, well-muscled man who was loading it carefully into a canoe. The light was poor but he could tell by the man's height and wide nose, that he was of Tonkanbi origin. She was planning to run away! With a man from a different tribe no less! _The whore!_ The heat in his loins now rose like lava into his chest, his jaws clenched so hard it sounded like stone grinding off stone, he was sure they would hear it. But Mapiya and her man paid no heed to Powwaw, hiding amongst the trees. He watched cautiously, to be certain of what was happening. When hunting you had to make sure you knew all about your quarry; where were they likely to run when startled, how could they defend themselves, were they alone? These things you needed to consider before you made your strike.

Mapiya leaned over and placed a tender, reassuring hand on the Tonkanbi man's tense, sinewy shoulder and the muscles around his back immediately relaxed. And that moment was too much for Powwaw. How could she touch another man with such tenderness on their engagement night? He suddenly leapt forward from his hiding spot, howling a water cry as he went. But at that moment he was not water, he was fire. His blood was bubbling oil, his eyes red, his skin flaming. He had not brought his infamous white-wood bow with him but he did have a small curved throwing dagger he always kept sheathed to his leg. With one fluid movement and a hunter's precision, the dagger skimmed through the air and found a soft little spot under the Tonkanbi man's chin.

In one breath, the great and beautiful man Arrow flopped to the floor like he was no more than a tree that had been felled. Rigid and motionless he lay there, like he had never known life at all, redness leaking from the hole in his neck. His eyes bulged, his face shocked. And above him Powwaw seemed to tower, his hands trembling, his chest pumping in and out. Mapiya was screeching like a girl-child, crying for help. And then her cries softened to a sob and then to a gasp when she saw the look in Powwaw's eyes. His face was terrible, steam was rising off him in the cold night air and his eyes were dark but blazing, like burning coals. And Mapiya was afraid. She spilled to the forest floor and spread out like water, trying to drain away…

**Trail 4 **

The woman had slid down the steep slant of the rock-wall with an ease that suggested she'd been skipping around the rocks and woods of Mayflower Way ever since she was a baby. She was a strange creature, short and with a slightly hunched back, swathed and hooded in a tattered cloak. Her face was grimy, her hair was black with dirt, but may have been blonde. Her lips were small and pink with a thick, sticky line of saliva between them. Her legs were held apart, her stance readied and her body constantly rocking back and forth; like some kind of strange tick. She stood before them, surveying them, her head tilted slightly.

Spencer was immediately alarmed. The others in his group were silent, watching the weird woman carefully. It felt like they had accidentally come upon a feral animal, and they wanted to back away slowly and quietly. This woman smelled musty and her eyes were magnified by the huge lenses in her greasy glasses. She gave the impression she came from a backward and forgotten world which filled everyone with a disturbing terror.

Her breathing was audible; deep panting and wheeze coming from her open, slimy mouth. With one tiny booted foot, she took a step forward. Immediately the group jumped two steps back.

"Miss….are you...what do you want?" Spencer stuttered.

And suddenly the woman's head span round, and she fixed her distorted eyes on him. Then her head started bobbing up and down violently, her breathing quickened and started to sound choked.

_Was that laughter? Was she laughing? _

And as suddenly as she had landed amongst them, she took off again, tearing through them like a bullet. Sunks side-stepped quickly and Madison almost dived out of the way. Spencer turned and watched the weird woman speed down the rocky slope and disappear, her cloak billowing after her as she went.

The group sat stunned for a minute, then stared at each other wide eyed. Madison leaned in to her boyfriend Cole and gave him a hug, comforting herself as much as him. Keeley giggled hysterically, breaking the silence.

"Redneck freak!" Cole shouted after the woman, though he knew she couldn't hear him.

Spencer stared, shaken and perturbed by this strange encounter. _Who the hell was she_? He stared down the trail to where he had last seen her and wondered what other secrets Mayflower Way was hiding.


	8. Chapter 8: Massacre on Moon Hill

**Trail 5: The River**

Natsuki Sano's skin was burned raw where she held tightly onto the rough, hempen cord. Though the sun shone brightly overhead, the cold currents of Racoon River washed around her, numbing her legs. She was waist deep and taking her time crossing to the other bank. The water was rushing so fast she couldn't make out the river bed beneath, and so she kept stumbling and occasionally stubbing her toe on a pointed rock. She held tight to the guide-rope; the flow was very strong, unlike her. Her arms were thin and bony and stuck out like pins from her slight wisp of a body.

Eventually she neared the bank and Darius was there to pull her ashore.

"Its freezing!" he exclaimed, but you could tell from his delighted grin that he was loving it.

Natsuki smiled her thank-you and immediately began to shake herself dry like a dog. Ideally she'd whip her towel out and give her icicle legs a good dry, but there was no time. They were the last group to set out and so had to hurry along their trail to reach the campsite.

Their trail ran alongside Raccoon River, a lesser river divergent from the great Makawee River whose roar could be heard for miles around Mayflower Way. It ran directly to Moon Hill where they would camp that night. However the trail on either bank was invariably interrupted by a steep cliff-face or impassable undergrowth so they always had to cross to the opposite bank, using guide ropes that had already been put in place by previous hikers. And so they continued zigzagging up Raccoon River for hours, freezing, drying and then freezing again. Natsuki hated it.

At least her best friend Hitsumi was here with her, shouting in their native Japanese to keep their spirits up. Both were exchange students from Ueno High School in Tokyo, and were spending six months in the USA to practice their English and gain a better understanding of American culture. What they had discovered so far was both exciting and disheartening. They could talk for hours about the differences between Japanese and American society, and laugh at how alien some things were to them. However to Natsuki, this was also the problem. She had always been alien, even back home in Tokyo.

She was actually born in California, when her father used to have a business position there. They had lived there for a few years and some of Natsuki's earliest memories were of a glowing sun, and sand and the smell of sea salt. When her family were to move back to Japan, Natsuki remembered screaming and refusing to go, and in protest tying herself to her bed post, with a little childish knot that easily came undone. However it didn't take long for her to settle into her quiet, subdued life in Misato, one of the faceless satellite towns of Tokyo.

She never really came to completely understand, or become one with Japanese culture and so always felt a little on the edges. Her father and mother worked so hard and relentlessly, and Natsuki tried to emulate their stringent example at school but even through all her cramming and studying, she sometimes stopped and glimpsed through all her work to see nothing on the other side. She felt claustrophobic in the silent, tense subway journeys around Tokyo, surrounded by many sleepy-eyed businessmen. Once on the train she had to use her phone to make an urgent call to her mother about some school matter, and an older man shouted at her for being disrespectful. She was so ashamed and apologised profusely, inwardly resenting all her fake assuagement and forced pleasantry.

At night she and faithful Hitsumi would wander the hushed, lonesome streets of Misato, or occasionally she would go alone. They would maybe discuss some gossip from school but mostly they'd talk about the future, about how they would flee Misato. Hitsumi wanted to move to Shinjuku or Roppongi district of Tokyo and become a party girl, eventually maybe own her own club. That could be a lucrative business in those areas. Natsuki wanted to get out of Tokyo altogether and go travelling. She was stubbornly occidental and dreamed of Europe or America. She realised that she spent half of her time wishing she was somewhere else, searching for a sense of belonging she lost long ago or never truly had. One time a girl from her Ueno class, Megumi, brought photos of her family trip to Uruguay into school and Natsuki pored over them for hours, looking at the wonders of that strange country far away. She looked at the faces of all the people and wondered what they were like, and how they would never know she existed or know that she had looked at their faces and wondered about them.

When the exchange programme opportunity came along, Natsuki leapt at the chance dragging Hitsumi along with her. She was so excited about returning to USA and joining an American high school. However only a few days into the exchange her intimate fears were realised; she didn't really fit in here either…The kids were boisterous and although friendly (especially some of the girls complemented her on her fashion style), never really completely connected with her. Was that her, a dullard from a different country? Or were these kids actually somewhat uninteresting? She wasn't sure, but she knew her loneliness intensified in America. She wasn't with her family and it was worsened by the fact that the more extroverted Hitsumi was fitting in better than she was.

One day she saw Wesley checking her out in class. Wesley had a bit of a reputation and she knew he had done stuff with at least a few of the other girls in class. He was quite handsome in a boyish way. When she saw Wesley look at her like that, it filled her with a kind of relief. The fact that this American boy could want her in that way, made her feel like a person, like she could fit in. Maybe if he fucked her, she would become real and her grey alien skin would peel away. She had lamely tried to seduce him, once by wearing tight hot pants in school (for which she was scolded by Ms. Mentira) and once at a party, she mumbled a few words to him; he was nice and spoke with her but she later saw him stumbling away with Keeley.

This must have been their seventh or eighth river crossing and Natsuki was shivering with the cold. Darius splashed the water around him at a screaming Riley, as Hitsumi (whose English had improved greatly) gossiped with Regan behind her. They made it to the river bank and after resuming hiking for a few minutes they turned a bend to come to the foot of a beautiful water fall. Water like liquid crystal spilled down the grey cliff face, singing as it went and scintillating in the late afternoon sun. Above the waterfall were a hill and a plateau – Moon Hill!

They'd reached the campsite, and from the looks of it, were the first ones there!

Whooping they raced to ascend the steep hill beside the water fall. Although it looked like they would be the first team to arrive, there was always still a chance that another group coming from a different direction could swoop in and steal the victory. Morale was high and Hitsumi's laughter pealed like a bell over the valley, as Darius and Riley dashed ahead. Natsuki smiled and tried so hard to be as excited as everyone else, but instead of laughing and cheering, that little voice inside her heart was dreary and exhausted.

**Moon Hill**

A fire raged in the centre of Moon Hill, its flaming tendrils dancing in the night air and reaching to the stars above. Surrounding it sat the entire class of weary hikers, feasting themselves on roasted sausage and burgers, and glugging bottles of coke. Spirits were high and laughter echoed out over Moon Hill, spilling into the forest below.

"Watch it!" Brooke growled as Tristan and Cole wrestled nearby, rolling in the grass, encouraged by the cheers and jeers of the other students. Most had gathered around to watch the spectacle, much to the dismay of Ms. Mentira, who was trying to calm the rowdy group.

Through the billowing smoke of the fire, Spencer gave Darius a furtive wink, which failed to go unnoticed by a curious Rain, lurking in the background.

Further from the spectacle of the wrestling match some of the students huddled around Madison and Taylor as they both retold stories of their odd experiences on their trek.

"A horrible skeleton, with hideous black holes for eyes," told Taylor for the seventh time. With rheumy eyes she looked wistfully into the distance as if she were retelling an old war tale.

"You should have seen this woman," Madison gushed, her eyes huge and her hands and face animated as she retold her story; "some weird forest woman. I bet she is like one of those feral kids and she's been living out in the wilderness for years. She couldn't really speak, only groan."

After many retellings, the description of the unkempt woman who had waylaid Madison's group on their trek had now morphed into some snarling, rabid Bigfoot.

"And now she has our scent!" Keeley squealed incredulously, looking around as her hysteria rippled into the audience.

The kids had told Ms. Mentira of the skeleton they'd come across, and the weird woman in the rock trail, but Mentira had waved both stories away as things insignificant, saying that were behind them now and would not trouble them again, however a few creases on her forehead betrayed her otherwise serene appearance.

Pretty porcelain Cadence approached Ms. Mentira as well, and tugged on her sleeve like how a child would.  
"Ms. Mentira, I thought you would return with Jocelyn. Where has she gone? What about Bailey, and Garrett?"

Some of the other kids were listening in too, some realising for the first time that the other kids were still missing.

Ms. Mentira sighed and her harsh features softened a little.

"I am sorry Cadence, I couldn't find them. I am not sure where they have gone, I left a message for them at the last campsite to tell them where we are. Otherwise I have called the local police station and the school. I fear we may have to abandon our hiking trip if they do not turn up tomorrow, and send a search party for them."

The whole class had gone quiet. Some of the classmates were shocked, they suspected Bailey and Garrett were stoned in the woods somewhere and would eventually turn up when they were hungry. Now they were officially missing, with Jocelyn as well. A swelling murmur spread throughout the camp like an incoming wave and soon excited, crazy rumours were forming like sea-foam, some linking the appearance of the strange woman on the rock trail to the missing kids. Ms. Mentira tried best to comfort the class and assure them that all would be well, but the way her voice was trembling did not fill them with confidence.

Brody sat on the rough edge of a fallen tree trunk that lined the outside of the camp. He stubbed out a cigarette and took a swig of cheap bottled beer that Wesley had snuck with him on the hike. He listened to the gossip around the missing students and was intrigued for awhile, but like most things with Brody, the excitement was transient and disappeared into the night air just like dissipating smoke from the fire. He soon fell back into his usual state of boredom. He was afflicted by a particularly severe case of that stultifying ennui that most teenagers experience every so often, though for Brody it was a chronic case. He hadn't quite figured out exactly how to cork that little hole in his chest that kept leaking all his motivation and vigour, leaving behind an apathetic hollow. He was sure he would figure it out soon, but in the meantime was happy enough to continue distracting himself with booze, cigarettes and weed.

"If you want anymore man, just shout me!"

Wesley clamped a hand on his shoulder as he sauntered past.

Wesley was everyone's friend, and was liked by all, but no one could really say exactly who his best friend was. He had a very cute, boyish face and a sleazy little grin-and-wink combination that was endearing yet incredible. He moseyed through camp, slapping backs, nudging shoulders and throwing his head back in laughter. He was in the midst of a very animated story when he accidentally elbowed a passing Nizhoni Fleetfloot, to the guffaws of some classmates.

"Nizhoni, sorry, I…I didn't see you," he stammered, for once caught off-guard and uncool.

"Ha, it's fine, it doesn't hurt," she smiled, rubbing her left breast where he'd struck her.

"Nizhoni, I never got to hear the end of that story about your tribe and Mayflower way," Wesley paused, "maybe I can catch up with you later, and you can finish it?" and then came his oily little grin.

They had both arrived at Moon Hill when Nizhoni was only half way through the story of Mapiya and Powwaw, and so she never had a chance to finish it, in all the excitement of reaching camp.  
"That…is not a story to be told just before you go to sleep," Nizhoni gave another cheery smile and made to move away, "I'll tell you another time."

And then she was gone back to her tent.

Wesley watched her go, and checked her sexy ass-swing as she went.

Blake went storming by, shoving past Wesley and shattering his trance.

"He was so fucking scared, he almost went white!" came Tristan's mocking voice, followed by the braying of Cole and Xavier.

Tristan was retelling the story about how scared Blake had seemed when they found the skeleton during their hike, much to the amusement of the other alpha boys.

Blake's nostrils were flaring and his strode to the end of camp (but never out of the reach of firelight), silently raging.

"Cut it out Tristan," Brooke sighed as she watched through grim, bored eyes. If he heard her, Tristan showed no acknowledgement as he continued sniggering.

Natsuki and Hitsumi sat nearby on the grass, enjoying their dryness and the warmth of the fire as they greedily ate some burgers. Natsuki would occasionally snatch little glances at Wesley, who seemed to be visiting everyone in camp apart from her.

"Congratulations!" came Caridad's squeaky voice as she plopped herself down beside Natsuki. "You made it here first, that must've been some good hiking!"

Caridad had doused herself in sweet, fruity perfume. Apparently during her hike along the swamp trail, Juan had stood on a rotten log, went through it and plunged into the stinking mire but not before grabbing Caridad and toppling her over too.

Juan had bathed in the clean waters of Racoon River for an hour but couldn't get the swamp stench out of his nostrils. Natsuki peeped over at him; he was drinking some beer and smoking with Brody behind a log at the back of camp, trying to hide their sinning from Ms Mentira. Behind them Natsuki saw someone moving through the trees, shaded grey by the pale moon light. It appeared to be Catalina, and then a while later, Leonardo followed her.

A short walk into the forest and the darkness was black as pitch, the laughter and shouting from the camp faded into a background hum, and the air was thick with the scent of pine. Leonardo followed Catalina carefully, though he crunched grass and snapped twigs underfoot so he was sure she heard him coming. In camp she had given Leonardo a fixed stare that definitely meant something but he wasn't sure exactly what. Then she marched into the forest and like an automaton he rose and followed her. It was difficult to navigate his way through the dark forest where the trees were narrow and black and there was no obvious trail, but a few steps further he heard a muffled sobbing.

He came across Catalina by a mean, skinny tree which stuck up from the ground like a black needle. She had her face pressed against it, glassy tears rolling down her beautiful, harsh face. She looked at Leonardo but said nothing, and began to dry her eyes.

Leonardo didn't know what to say, he had never seen the usually hard Catalina like this before. He wanted to run over and squeeze Catalina tight, and hold her close to him. He knew from his father's stories that Catalina had some domestic problems with her inebriate father. He realised that this was probably the first time in awhile that she had felt safe, relaxed, out here in the wilderness away from her home. Leonardo took small steps closer, careful as if trying not to frighten her off with any sudden movements.

He came body to body with Catalina, who was breathing hard. His mouth was dry and he kept thinking of all the things he should say. He wanted to tell her he would keep her safe and that all her problems were over now. But how could he tell a lie like that? He knew his words were worthless right now. They stayed like that, for awhile, eyes locked, neither one ready to leave. Catalina moved first, and tilted her face slowly upwards until her lips, wet with tears, met his. Leonardo kissed her gently at first, and then with a deep breath pulled her in tight to his body, crushing their faces together, embracing hungrily. As suddenly as their kiss began, it came to an end. Catalina stepped back, cradling Leonardo's face in her hands like a prize. The moonlight caught in her eyes; gleaming like hidden treasures, newly discovered at the bottom of the world.

**Inhambane**

The motel room was plain; a bed, a toilet, an old TV. The peeling wall paper was bleached by years of sunlight. The toilet was cracked and dirty, and didn't function the best; it had finally rebelled after years of swallowing everyone's waste and would occasionally regurgitate its contents onto the tiled floor when flushed too forcefully.

Verity leaned out the first story window, staring at the big fat moon. The air had cooled now, and was still, her puffs of smoke drifted lazily into the night. She wondered what it was about this place that made her feel so unsettled. Was it the look of the town? A backwater redneck enclave miles from anywhere else. There were shops with faded signposts and letters above them, half rotted away. The place felt outdated, like it was built up in the fifties and then just forgotten about. Except a few people were left behind…The local people looked strange, their clothes were old and faded and far from fashionable. They cast her strange, wary glances. Unsmiling, lined old faces with flat eyes. The fact that there was no mobile phone signal was like a validation of her isolation.

She realised why she felt so unsettled…it was because she felt like she was unwanted, a trespasser in a strange land. These insular people had a little community here and she had landed in the middle of it. She would be glad to get this assignment over and done with…Talk with the locals, research some old newspapers (she had noticed a somewhat neglected library on the outskirts of town when she had come through) and maybe get some quotes off the local police or firemen… 

Verity was tired. She stubbed her cigarette into the near-empty can of coke on the window sill, and heard a satisfying little fizzle as it went out. She shut the window, undressed and collapsed into bed. Why was driving so exhausting when all you do is sit? She ruminated again about how shit this job was, how lonely she felt in this weird town and how she wanted to be back in the city. If she hadn't have been fired, maybe right now she'd be networking at one of those cheesy cocktail parties she so often used to frequent. As she fell asleep, the clinking of glasses against the backdrop of pointless chatter echoed in her ears and on into her restless dreams.

**Moon Hill**

Riley Swann put a finger to her tongue and scraped along it. It was rough like sandpaper. She groaned and slowly opened one sticky eye. She was so dry. She transitioned slowly from sleep back into the real world, gradually becoming aware of all the sounds around her; soft snoring from Regan in the sleeping bag next to her, the crackling of a dying fire outside her tent and the creaking of boughs tossed by the gentle morning wind.

And she became more aware of the hot sting in her throat, and her mouth dry like bones and tasting just as unpleasant.

_Water! _

She felt around hectically in the dark, searching for a bottle, a flask, a can, anything with fluid, but all in vain. She gave Regan a little shake; "Regan," she whispered, "Regan, do you have any water."

Regan groaned inaudibly then with one somnolent arm, flung a bottle at Riley, smacking her in the face. But Riley didn't mind!

_Water, yes!_

She unscrewed it frantically and put her thirsty, cracked lips to the bottle, however only a drop or two flowed forth. Riley was so disappointed she felt so could cry, but she thought it wiser to conserve her tears. She was so comfortable in her little sleeping bag cocoon, and spent a long time deliberating whether she would be better comfortable and dry, or thirst-quenched and cold. In the end, her thirst won out and so with great determination she wriggled free of her bedding, unzipped the tent and stepped outside.

She had left a bottle of water near her walking boots beside the tent; she snatched it up and immediately began taking long, hard draughts. It was the sweetest thing she had ever tasted.

_Water… _

Then something on the other side of camp caught her eye; a tall, sinewy figure, hulking and silhouetted against the white of the moon, with thin wiry wisps of hair coming from an otherwise bald head. She tried to see his face but it was so dark, dark, drinking in the black around it and she couldn't make out any detail.

"Hello…? Who's that?"

And as soon as she heard her own tremulous voice, she was hit by a pang of terror that almost brought her to her knees, her throat was suddenly dry again, and she felt all the water she drank was going to come out into her pants.

_That isn't a person_

An instinct told her it wasn't a person; it was a creature, _a monster_, skulking through the camp at night. _Is this the thing that happened to Jocelyn, Bailey and Garrett?_ The figure was still and unmoving, almost like an otherworldly statue. And for a second Riley felt like her tired eyes may have been playing tricks on her. And then its head snapped around, and Riley saw beady, watery-grey dots in an otherwise black face.

_Those are his eyes... And he sees me. _

A guttural shriek came tearing up from her belly like vomit, foul and burning as it came. All reasonable functioning shut down, electricity ceased to flow through her higher circuits, logic and rationale collapsed as Riley was taken over by a primitive and autonomic control remembered only by blood and bone. She shrieked and shook, her heart boomed and blood frothed and surged in her ears so all she could hear was buzzing. She couldn't move or think and felt only an animal, wild fear.

And the creature shot across camp, a black bullet, with a speed it should not know. A long, slender outstretched limb came slashing down like a sword and Riley's head exploded like a peach hit by a hammer, spraying brain, gore and eyes all over her tent wall with a wet slap. Her dying shriek had been like an alert siren over Moon Hill and within seconds the whole camp descended into rampant chaos...


	9. Chapter 9: Massacre on Moon Hill II

**Chapter Nine: Massacre on Moon Hill II**

Her heart was deceitful.

She took all of Leonardo's complements with quiet sighs and soft, effacing smiles. Her face now was stony and from it he could elicit little of what she was thinking, the dim light in the tent did not help either.

But her heart was different, it was the secret to another language, simple and primitive and semi-concealed in the vagueness of her words and trickster smiles. With one hand gently holding her breast, a finger grazed the wall of her chest where he could feel her heartbeat tapping out a secret code.

When complemented her smile was shallow and shifting, but her heart would beat faster and with more force. When he held her tight she barely reciprocated and lay limp like a doll, but the slow steady rhythm in her chest revealed her security. Betrayed by her heart beat, Leonardo had found a way to interpret the language Catalina had tried to forget and destroy; the language of her blood and body.

After their kiss in the forest and Catalina's emotional outburst, she had quickly returned to her usual stoic self, however she did agree when Leonardo suggested they sleep next to each other in his tent (he had to ask Juan to share with Caridad, Juan eagerly agreed – much to Caridad's chagrin).

They had spoken quietly for awhile (or rather, Leo had done a lot of questioning with minimal response) but eventually, wrapped together, they fell into a deep sleep – one brought on by a day of hiking and a few beers. Leo strayed into sleep and slowly lost awareness of all the surrounding camp noises (fire crackling, sniggering from some of the campers still awake). He wasn't sure how long he had been out for when a high pitched scream jolted him into an upright position, for a second he felt Catalina's heart rate quicken as he pulled his hand away.

There was silence for a few seconds as Leonardo made to unzip the tent and as he did so he heard a violent splash-like noise from across camp. Suddenly the camp came to life, tents starting shuddering, shaking off early morning dew with mouths zipping open and confused and frightening campers scrabbling around to find out what was happening.

It was difficult to see; the moon's light was shrouded by a cloudy sky and the central fire was burning low. However Leo realised something was horribly amiss when more screaming came from across camp and people started to race by him, wide eyed and yelling incomprehensibly, some looked at him but in their agitation it was like they didn't even recognise him.

Leo took a few tremulous steps towards the fire. He couldn't quite see what was happening but there was a strange shape framed by the dying licks of flame, black and humanoid, casting a hideous shadow over the camp. Wide eyed and shaking Leo came close to the fire, he could feel its warmth but it brought no comfort, it could not dry the oily sweat from his face or calm the tremor in his limbs. He took another step and felt a soft, squishing sensation.

He looked down at the gloopy puddle he had just stood in and with horror, recognised it as belonging to Cadence. She lay on her back a good few feet away, shuddering a little. Her face was terrifying and filled Leo with dread. She seemed zombied, undead. Even in the weak moonlight she had managed to take on a colour beyond white. Her cheeks and lips and the contours of her face had all been sapped of any hue or tint, and what remained was only that of snow and ash. She was wearing only a bra and pyjama bottoms and the rest of her skin was also as white as bone. Her chest shook violently, moving out and in and up and down so unnaturally, like she had forgotten how to breathe. From her waxen lips came the most agonising and pitiful cries, but no sense could be made of them.

He looked down from her twisted ghost face, past her white chest to a gaping hole in her abdomen. Her innards were not inside her. They were strewn across the grass of the camp, glistening wet in the firelight and leaking dark blood in voracious gushes. Her intestines were twisted and entangled in an elaborate and macabre tapestry all around her, punctured and leaking shitty fluid and bleeding freely. The air around her stank.

She let out one last shriek, an awful ululation that perforated through the chaos of the camp; the music of terror. Then the spasms of her chest came to a sudden stop and she was still. Leo removed his foot from whatever viscera he had been standing in, leaned forward and projected a hot stream of vomit onto the floor. His hearing and vision began to blur, his bare feet numbed to the scratch of grass beneath them, and he no longer felt the sweat run down his arms.

His fellow students shouldered past him, fleeing the camp in one massive hysterical clamour. Like a fire alarm had just gone off in a high security mental hospital, they all raced by, hollering and screeching, some tripping over others and some outright pushing others over. Some were half dressed and unkempt, others had managed to grab their bags or water bottles or shoes or whatever they could before they ran. Some were weeping manically, some yelled about a monster, others had eyes like they had just lined MDMA (and running like they had) and a few called out frenzied, half understandable directions or commands.

"Leo, move!"

Ms. Mentira grabbed him by the arm and spun him around.

"We have to move."

She was dressed in pyjamas and her hair was wild. She screamed at him to move but there was still a level of control in her voice, some strength; she had not completely given in to fear. She held him firmly and gave him a steady look. His hearing and vision began to clear, his feeling returned. He nodded his head and the fear he had taken from the sight of Cadence's vicious end was replaced momentarily by the strength he could see and hear in Mentira's eyes and voice.

_Catalina!_

He left Ms. Mentira behind and raced back to the tent where Catalina stood shoving her feet into soggy hiking boots and simultaneously pulling a coat on. "It's cold in the forest," she said emphatically. 

_She's right_

Half the kids were running semi naked into the forest but it was the middle of the night and though he could far from feel it right then, he knew the sylvan air would be bitter. He grabbed his coat and boots and flung his bag around his naked shoulder and then took Catalina by the elbow.

"We have to move," he yelled, echoing Mentira, hoping to emulate her strength. They ran in the opposite direction from which the majority of other students had dashed. As they did so Leo cast a quick askance glance at Juan's tent. He was relieved to see the tent opened and empty.

_Hopefully Juan and Caridad made a good run for it. _

They charged on ahead though the trail was not clear and overlain by thick, drooping boughs. Catalina stumbled a little on a long, black branch lying on the path. Leo kicked it out of the way and immediately realised it was not a branch. It was soft and meaty, and heavier than he expected.

_That was someone's arm..._

"We have to move."

They kept running, occasionally tripping up, occasionally falling over but always back on their feet and running. All around them was darkness and occasional slivers of silver light. Their exaggerated breathing came fast and noisy and sounded like thunder. Leo had never felt his heart beating like this before, so forceful and violent like it could tear clear from his chest. They slowed when they ran into a copse so dense that it was too difficult to go faster than a brisk walk. Eventually they stopped and crouched down.

Leo took a bottle of water from his bag and handed it to Catalina. They both shared the drink.

"What do you think is happening?" Catalina asked. Her voice was steady and did not tremble, but her heart beat so fiercely that Leo could feel her pulse in her fingertips, betraying her panic.

"I don't know," he admitted honestly, "but Cadence was dead. Killed. Killed by someone, and I think others may be dead as well."

"A person? An animal?"

"I heard someone shouting about...a monster."

Leo breathed deeply. He knew he sounded ridiculous but he now fully believed in monsters. Only a monster could tear Cadence open and allow her to leave the world in pain and terror the way she did. Catalina stared at Leo, her eyes initially incredulous and then slowly returning to their usual impenetrability.

"So what do we do?"

Leo took another quick swig of his bottle and stood, pulling Catalina up with him. He had had a beer with Juan earlier, he had joked with Caridad, he had kissed Catalina lips, and he had held her tight and felt her heart beating into his hand. He had known terror. He had seen a death. He had to go; they had to get out of there.

"We have to move."


	10. Chapter 10: Night Walker

**Inhambane**

The streets were so quiet, empty; soulless. Verity wandered aimlessly, taking ginger steps so her boots did not click loudly on the cobbled road. There was something in the silent air that made her want to be silent as well, so she moved like a cat in the strange town that was even more whimsical and unfamiliar under the white-blue of the night sky. She could not describe the feeling she had in Inhambane, was it just over exaggeration of the usual vulnerability people feel in new places? Or was she feeling the first trickles of an insidious dread that had been welling up inside her ever since she landed in this otherworldly place.

She continued her aimless promenade to the other side of the town, under the cover of moon and stars with no other light than the little orange glow from her cigarette she puffed on occasionally. She had suddenly awoken at around two that morning; shaking and shedding cold tears from a sorrowful dream she could no longer recall. Her sleeping pattern had been completely fucked up since she had left the city and lost her job, friends and life.

Now she would often find herself lying awake at night, coiling her bed sheets around her in frustration, waiting for a sleep which played at evading her. Eventually she'd pass out but would subsequently doze off at inappropriate times during the day. In other instances (like that night) she would manage to sleep early enough, but then awake in the small hours, sweating and trembling from the hurt of a merciless nightmare. And that was how she developed her habit of night walking (and worsened her habit of stress smoking).

She strode on wearily, the light of the moon at her back and giving her a good view of the road ahead. However as she turned a corner, she heard something in the distance..._laughter?_ That was something she did not expect. Cautious but deliciously intrigued, Verity followed the sound to another street on her right and turning onto it she could see thin strands of light on the floor, emanating from a fat, crooked building in the centre of the street. _This is the first house that has shown any signs of life in this whole town!_

She entertained the idea of turning around and resuming her walk to the edge of town, but she knew that her journalist's curiosity, which always trounced her other instincts, would bring her to the laughter and noise eventually anyway, and so she stubbed her cigarette out and walked to the fat, crooked building that shone with light and merriment. As she neared the building she slowed down and approached warily. She smelt strong alcohol and smoke, and heard muffled chit-chat and occasional guffawing. She looked at the sign over the entrance; 'Billy's Tavern_'_. _A bar?_

She did not expect to find a bar open this late in such a little town. Interested she tried to peep through the window as she slowly wandered by but the glass was frosted and all she could make out were a few blurred figures; black against an orange glow. She walked by and then stopped in an alleyway beside Billy's. _Should I go for a drink..?_ _A nice spirit would go down well right now; on the other hand I could be walking into some backwater hills-have-eyes fest which probably wouldn't go down so well._ Verity toyed with the idea of drinking for a few minutes, and then decided she would go for a drink!

She had only seen around three or four figures in the bar, and they were chatting and laughing cheerily enough. Also, drunken locals would probably give good information about what happened in Mayflower Way in the late eighties, and the sooner she could write the story, the sooner she could get out of Inhambane and leave all the eerie, lonesome streets behind. Her decision was strengthened by the plump canister of double action pepper spray in her coat pocket (after she published the article that saw her ran out of the city, she had become accustomed to taking it with her).

She stood in front of Billy's entrance, took a deep breath (it was always scary walking into local bars, let alone a local bar at half two in the morning in a dustbowl town that America had forgotten) and pushed open the wooden door. Rusty hinges cried as she entered and that was the only sound she heard as all conversation ceased, all drinking stopped and all eyes were on her. Verity swallowed. There were four men, including the bartender. Three sat at the bar, two close together and the third a few stools apart, however all four of them seemed to have been involved in conversation. A portly, ruddy faced man with gold bands on his fingers nodded at Verity, he had a bemused expression. Verity nodded back and made her way to the bar, and sat on a stool at the far left of the bar – as far as she could from the locals.

The barman looked at the fat man before approaching Verity.

"What can I get you Miss?"

_Amaretto and ice. _"You have whiskey?"

"Sure thing, Tennessee whiskey?"

"Sure, with ice please."

The three men on her right resumed conversation though were now speaking a lot more hushed. After a few murmurings, the fat man let out a laugh that sounded like a clap followed by a wheeze. His face turned even redder; a rich tomato colour. The moustachioed barman set a tumbler in front of Verity, poured her a generous glug of whiskey and shovelled in a small glacier of ice, which began to steam gently. _Hmm, at least they know how to drink here._

She took a sip and delighted in the earthy whiskey burn. It was strange how one sip of alcohol immediately made her feel a lot more relaxed, but even so she kept her eyes on the melting ice in front of her, she wanted to listen and get better judgement of the bar and its patrons first before she spoke with them. She allowed herself a little glance around; this bar was ridiculous, like some kind of funhouse parody of a cowboy bar complete with stools dressed in hide, bison skulls and treble X liquor jugs. However she was struck by an oil painting on the wall by the door, of a young Native American woman tied to a post, naked from the waist up and losing blood from a manifold of vicious wounds, her face a mixture of pain and hatred. It was a disturbing painting and seemed out of place compared with the other garish adornments. A painting on the opposite side of the room was of the Minotaur from Greek mythology, stalking the halls of his labyrinth. _What odd paintings..._

"Hey there Miss," came a deep voice.

Verity looked over to the fat man who was smiling at her. The other men were looking at her inquisitively.

"Hey there Mister"

"Sorry to pry, but it's not often we get visitors to our little town, especially ones that can knock whiskey back the way you can."

Verity looked down at her glass; she had unconsciously sunk nearly the whole drink during her musings.

She smiled; "it's a good drink," and nodded at the barman.

The fat man let out another sonorous, wheezy laugh.

"Yes, yeah it is...So what brings you to these lonely old parts?"

"My job. I'm..." Verity fumbled a little, she was still embarrassed to admit her _FREAK_ job, even to these bumpkins, "...a writer. And I am especially interested in these lonely old parts."

"A writer eh?" the fat man cooed with eyes wide; apparently interested or feigning interest well.

"Of sorts." Verity smiled, then saw a little opportunity to get some work done, "actually, maybe if you guys aren't too busy you could help me out, I could ask you a few questions?"

"Well, Miss, you are talking to the sheriff of this little town and these here are my colleagues, and we'd be much obliged to help you out in any way we can."

"I am owed no obligation, but thanks all the same!"

Verity spun her legs off the stool and strutted over to the sheriff and his crew, and took the vacant stool in the middle of them. As a former political journalist Verity knew how to fuck with the big boys, and these guys were no more than babes. Feeling a little more confident (though she was unsure whether this was due to the tumbler of whiskey she'd practically snorted, or because she had a better grasp of these guys), she pulled a small moleskin pad from her bag and a felt-tip pen. She licked her wet lips and glanced at the barman; "another please."

"So what is it you're writing miss?" asked one of the sheriff's men, the one with orange hair and a narrow face.

"I am writing about this town. About something that happened here, twenty-three years ago..." she let her voice trail away, and looked for recognition in the eight eyes around her; they all glinted. The orange man looked at the sheriff and raised an eyebrow. _They know something._

"..And what exactly would that be?" the sheriff said spider-soft, leaning in close, close enough for Verity to smell his cigar stink half-concealed by a cheap musky cologne, close enough for Verity to smell his meat breath and the small pointed yellow teeth behind the unctuous smile spreading across his tomato face.

"An accident. An incident. If you were here then, you must remember, a bus load of tourists caught up in a storm, their bus blown over a cliff?" Verity said, almost challengingly. She spoke with strength but the nervous feeling she had when she had entered the bar was coming back, and the mood was changing. Her question was like a strainer, leaking away all the laughter and high spirits and leaving behind a shifty and sour alcoholic air.

The sheriff's mouth kept smiling, but his eyes stopped smiling.

"Well it sounds like you know the full story; there ain't nothing else to tell."

"If there ain't nothing, that means there is something."

Now the sheriff stopped smiling altogether, his yellow teeth disappeared behind his fleshy lips; "you think you're the first clever little city slicker to come in here and start asking us simple country folk about what happened around our town?" He paused... "Those people died near the town. I was here, I helped pull their broken, bloated bodies from the water, I saw their twisted faces and scattered limbs. I gave my story to the reporters then and all the ones that came after. But every so often another _writer_ comes around, and kicks up a dust that's long since settled..."

He voiced his words with increasing harshness; a thin film of spittle was forming on his lips.

"...painful memories are like poison, venom that runs deep into the mind. The only antidote is time, time that allows you to live with your poison. Just when you feel you're able to live with it, another fucking snake comes along and bites you again."

He spat the last words and his face, at first plump and friendly was now a terrible portrait of unhidden rancour, painted in scarlets and crimsons. He kept his face close to Verity's, and she could feel all the eyes of the men, all eight eyes, glinting around her like she was in a spider's web. _A snake in a spider's web..._ She felt her hand unconsciously grasp the pepper spray in her coat pocket, her knuckles white.

The sheriff kept a steely gaze on Verity; she returned it with as much vehemence as she could muster but inside she was feeling panicky. The room was so quiet, though she thought she could almost hear the wet, sinewy sounds of a smirk forming on the orange-haired man's face who sat next to her. She wasn't sure what to say, but she definitely couldn't press on with these questions, it was too dangerous. She had seemingly brought up a deeply painful topic...or these guys were drunker than she had thought and were looking to pick on someone. _Don't let them know you are afraid..._

She opened her mouth to reply and then came the sounds of radio interference, whiney static and a ghostly cry. She closed her mouth and her eyes flicked to the transceiver neatly strapped to the sheriff's gold-buckled leather belt. His eyes, too, lost their ire and flicked to the transceiver. There was so much static that came through it was difficult to work out what was being said, but a man's voice (it sounded like a young man) was heard shouting.

"HELP!...Ple...a monst...Help!...Mayflower Way...Smentira's group of..."

And so much static that the rest of the words were muffled. The sheriff clicked a switch on the transceiver and cut the transmission but before he did so, Verity was sure she heard some screaming in the background. She suddenly felt as cold as the frozen ice in her whiskey. _What the fuck?_

"We have work to do, you'd best get on home now Miss," the sheriff said after a pause. His voice was gruff but had lost all of its menace; it was almost friendly, "Now there may some mishappenings out there tonight. Where you staying? At the motel? I suggest you go back there."

Verity sat up and threw a couple of dollars onto the bar. "I'm sorry if I upset you gentlemen, I hope your work isn't too strenuous."

And with that she turned and strode out of Billy's, closing the door tight behind her and sucking in the cool night air. She was sweating, and she hadn't realised until then but one of her hands was trembling and the other was still holding the pepper spray tightly. She released her grasp and took another few deep breaths. _That was intense._ She lit a cigarette.

She started walking down the street, and welcomed its empty silence. She had underestimated those rednecks; they were a lot sharper than she'd thought they'd be. The sheriff had been deeply defensive when she had questioned him; he had reacted so strongly when she had asked them what had happened in Inhambane twenty-three years ago. _That transmission..._ and now there was something strange happening in the surrounding forestland...

And then she felt it again, that insurmountable urge, that unreachable itch, that journalists curiosity bubbling through her veins like magma threatening to erupt – and she knew what she was going to do.

_He had asked me where I was staying, "the motel?" That's where I'm staying but that is not where I'm going, no...I'm going to Mayflower Way, to find out exactly what these "mishappenings" are. _


End file.
